Ode on My Notebook

Mohammad Foysal Ahmed Akash

Here the notebook lies still on the table,

with a look more sober and imposing,

telling me of the scribbles nimble,

jotted down at the time of reposing.

 

I’m looking into the pages turned dull,

soaked with the darker dyes of time,

jacketed thrice around the damp skull,

a pale red ribbon swells the fullest grime.

 

It reminds me of dreary pensive times,

tolls impinged upon the tired conscious.

It scribes the unscripted, finest of my rimes

the weather changed in capricious mood.

 

Here are the carvings of some

imaginary bikes, some distant islands,

which remind the unfinished roads

diverged into the loneliest spectrum.

 

Here are encoded words of my libido,

hiding my secrets from the worst contempt.

Here grazes my roe free from the meadow,

sends everywhere messages of the unkempt.

 

You my dull notebook, my soul’s sole warm bed,

I can’t go anywhere except hid into your serene shed.

Let all my darks dive into your purer springs

and hold my happiness with tighter clings.