Be a tree Get wet in sorrow’s shower and you’ll recover. From envy’s scorching sun gather strength

Smoother violence fills our hearts like charming splinters. The irony is I am the first of my women

His five sons/ Were killed and the books...

These words are not just some veils adorning the valour and victory of our freedom fighters; they're not just tributes but testaments to the rare occasion of the oppressed overpowering the oppressor.

I cannot, for the life of me, definitively describe what makes music. Growing up in a family where music of any form was not typically paid any reverence, my exposure to it was tunnelled into mainstream pop songs for the longest time.

The Instagram account for Escapril posts all 30 prompts for the month ahead of time, and the poet is only required to write by taking inspiration from said prompts

It was noontime when I arrived home the sun was shining bright

As bird flocks take wing at the rattle of Sten guns

I was nine years of age the first time I set eyes on a Dhaka street. I received my first welcome from a group of beggars tapping on my car window.

Break me into numbers and spirals, and blood and flesh make me all that I don't wish to be.

Someday, I will write about those places, the cities, monuments, and faces.

Haiku is a poem in three lines that captures the image of a single moment in the reader’s mind.

Showers and storms give way To a surge of sunlight A fragrance of hope floats in On morning breeze

Delicate like butterfly wings, And yet as strong as boulders Her mind is a divine place, Eternal peace on her shoulders. 

Seek if you must If you believe the truth shall set you free And then? We heal.

A series of poems also reflect his ecological sensitivity to the machine in the garden and snakes and hyenas imperiling forests and rivers and Dhaka—the city he has lived in for most of his life.

The song “Shada Shada Kala Kala” seems almost like a visual rendition of “the merry minstrelsy” that breaks out in front of the bride as red as a rose.

The winter has seized my heart, I can only hear the silence around me now!

With her kohl-rimmed eyes cast down, Nadia lilts through a folk couplet before a secret assembly of women poets on a forbidden subject that often gets people killed in Afghanistan -- love.