Three poems by Mahamuda Rahman Shuchi
Bed Cover
StainsI hate stains on my bedcover most.
Not the black marks on time,
Not the loose strings of a careless history,
Not a messy heap of stupid bloody images,
Who cares about them? There may be thousands
Or hundred thousands stains on my bed.
But on my bedcover?
I don't let any survive.
Canon
Is it universally fixed thatRam will be always Ram
And
Raban will always be Raban?
No way!
Liable Options
This is an afternoonTo either compose a poem
Or peel a half-boiled potato.
One would certainly like the smell of both -
The poem and the potato.
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