How many dreams are dead
Sabrina Jahan Sumi
My broken bones, sweaty hands, and body-less water particles are continuously absorbed by the beggars.
They build the capitalism of the future by sucking blood.
They build the economy, build a prosperous century.
I am just a broken cooler, a leftover substance.
I am an irregular pedestrian on a path that is outside the rules, living in a climate of controversy,
Controlled by hand-to-hand combat.
I am the six of Ludo, a chess piece,
I am humanity that has been lost from generation to generation,
I am a worn-out and helpless crowd. I am the hard-working republic of a distant village,
The sky is filled with worries
The warriors compete in their service.
My heart is soaked in blood for a lifetime,
Looking at the wounds that are silently praised, I wipe away the pain of the wounded mentality.
I wash away the foolishness of democracy, which is like a pillar of light, and I dream of living separately, like a banyan tree, a thornbush, and a thornbush, covering fifty-six thousand square miles. I dream of breaking down the exploiter's mill, of trampling the green border and building a fortress for the exploited. At the hour of doom, my footprints are thirsty for the flame of the dove's eye. I am the scapegoat of Mir Jafar, born in the age of ingratitude, I am crushed everywhere, I am a guilty resident of the land. I dream of no one sitting in the courtroom to express injustice in the kingdom of justice, like a fragrant basil plant. I am lost in my dreams, surrounded by the promise of changing fate, I am constantly cursed by the crisis of existence. In the midst of doubt and fear, the untimely death of many dreams,
The raven pecks at many desires.
I hide the bitter contemporary pain with a smile on my face.
I am bound by the vicious cycle of betrayal
In the silent fire that is unconditionally suffocated with failure.
