Thousand Widows
By Mahbubul Karim (Sohel)
March 23, 2003


Not with the darkest night or shuddering chill

But the soul or mind traverse the mortal distance

in whapping gallop, over the tempestuous waves of restless sea

deep blue with bubbly foam twinkling in every krill

oozed from watery mouth of dancing seal

in the midst of pounding storm

as if the world is in need of pure reform



The sea is like a mountain with its thunderous waves

swelling in the farthest peak and then dismantling

into flowing waves like melting lava

eviscerated from raging volcanoes

And the screaming wind swinging the aura

of an isolated oxbow or pinnacle reef

in the middle of thousand violent wars

and piercing moan of thousand widows



Not with the bitterest shriek or hovering fright

But the soul or mind traverse the mortal distance

in whapping gallop, over the waves of sand in bombarded desert

dusty white with chunky gnome baffling in every fib

abused from treacherous shout of hellish glib

in the midst of blitzing bomb

as if the world cannot see the naked pogrom