অটোয়া, রবিবার ২৩ ফেব্রুয়ারি, ২০২০
Poems of Tithi Afroze

The Wind

Whether I want or not
How hurriedly
The wind enters my abode! 
It truly amazes me!

Amazing is its uncaring touch;
When it hides itself in flocks between the gaps of mango-leaves
Keeps coming back in deep ecstasy of laying a trap
My heart then tunes in the frame of my closed window
Lu lu lu

When I am alone under the shower and completely drenched
I measure the heat of the water and search for an evening
To open my mind’s window; them my mind… reminds me
That evening rustic song ... pu pu pu

The curtain is the distance between desire and satisfaction;
When the bizarre wind goes; the curtains of my inner world
Do not move; I keep on looking, and stand on the ceiling fan
Wings grow on my body, I turn to be a bird
To fly to you.. (...)
Whether you want or not
Slowly I enter so deep
Stirring my feathers
I move and fly from wind to wind…

The Technique of Flying

A sandcastle or a paper boat
I can teach you at the art school.

A teacher can teach everything
How to make flower gluing the bottom of leaves
And dream clouds with torn papers.
I wanted to fly among the white clouds
My biology teacher could not teach me that technique.
But I have flown, flown to the seventh sky
The abode of clouds is very familiar to me.
The rain that drops or is about to drop
They have their own history, and more so, they have love.

You, to fly and to live
Or to rob pleasure rubbing your body against mine
Contact me quickly-
Come to the cold evening of the flowers
Where I restore a cluster of love
Flower and Love
Love and flower
Will teach us the technique!

Prostitute 

Today I talked to a fallen leaf
When winter comes, she falls and mixes completely
With the absolute caresses of the soil.

The red leaf told me, she is a prostitute;
Made me hear the breaking rhythm of her life
The shameless verses of man's promiscuity who kept bride at home
The prose of her falling from plant to the soil
And the summary of her poetic life after abandoning her homes
Everybody knows her as a leaf, and she knows
The story of her of becoming a prostitute 
A handful of rice can fill one's stomach all of you understand
Poet, do you understand, how a young life falls to harshness being dry and drier
The life that belongs to a prostitute belongs to none
Her laughter is broken pieces of jewels.

Tithi Afroze / Dhaka, Bangladesh.