A Poet is Dead -- a Poem

A Poet is Dead

By Mahbubul Karim (Sohel)
August 15, 2004

(Dedicated to the honorable memory of Dr. Humayun Azad)

A poet is dead
Alive in words
And dreads of past and present
Persecuted and haunted
By swollen peccadillo
And butchered swords

His poems have fire
His poems stirred the masses
Far and near
Even the blind and the deaf of logic
And rationality
Gained back sight and ears
They could see horizon
Large enough
They could hear songs of wind
Loud enough
Without fear of jeers

His are the struggles
Fought from the dawn
Without end and pretend
Animals roamed and drawn
Dead animals clutched in teeth
Animals groan
Live animals skinned and roasted
In oven
By gas powered heat

Hate is driven
By bigotry and callous
Zealots who claim to be bearer
Of creed and passions of patriots
Overshadow the sane and sages
Like well-versed parrots
They banter and chitchat
Comedy political
Or modulated scriptures
Selected for the occasions
Their losing propositions get thrashed
By the poet of valiance
With smooth strokes of pen
He refuted banality and impotence
Of many a pseudo credo

A poet is dead
Is he really?
Alive are his dreams
Of peace and equality
His eyes are closed
Forever they say
He is silenced
Till the “judgment day”
They gloat from shadow and light
Fiends want to spread intense fright
For the abrogation of history
And past refurbished

Mortals perish everyday
Bigots will too
But the poet’s words
Shall ring true
For the days to frown
For the nights to mourn