Alphabetwllness Poem by Munira Chowdhury

For a long 52 years I was writing a secret diary. Today I open it suddenly and found -- there are no words and colours on the grey pages of the diary, it is completely blank...drowned
The ships full of green chillies and cardamom from Ujan Nagar, have vanished in emptiness through fiftytwo windows of rivers, fiftytwo rivers have fried up...It is February now....And I know
In this month the Bengali alphabets are not incarcerated on pages. Goes to distant stars in the shape of scarlet birds
In honour of Rafique, Salam, Jabbar.
02. There is no space in my diary night shredded with blade and blood oozing all around.
Some blood are even burning. From the slaughtered flesh of pigs shrieks are floating..
Peeled skins of the moon are staring vacantly..
The diary contains head of deer, crow and pencil, heart of my lover and rickety God's grave and crematoria side by side
Today a flock of birds have come flying from Babylon, for self sacrificing for a second time.
In the diary I have hidden myself in the ashtray of shadows and ash as ash I am becoming ash