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22:01 for Shahrier
{for Shahrier}
Your smiles danced
on the rustic
pages of my diary
without your kowledge
just because they are informed
about how you would actually accuse me
of being childish
and trivial
for refusing what could
have consume me long time ago;
the scarred angels in red
stained dresses with clipped
wings
chipped away in my
past
sometimes
I wish that I own the capability
to translate the gratitude of having you
in my path
and later pronounce them in
an equal intensity of
my care for you
because
apparently I am not a creature of clarified
words or succint voices and
every single time
I try to vocalise the echoes
of your inexplicable entity my sentences
--break
at
the
mention
of your
name
like
it is
now
but I am glad and content
of you knowing
the truth denied to many --all those
stories I had never speak
any louder at
any time but when I am
with you
and the way you never
perceive me as
a broken being
placed me
on this
stage where I am no longer ashamed
or scared
of the intangible fragments
I carry within
the vessels beneath
the vehement layers on my
skins
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This is a poem I wrote to a dear friend,
living 8000 miles away from me in California, hoping that
in spite of my nature as a struggling poet,
I manage to etch my mind on a piece of paper.