Faruk Ahmed Roni
Poetry

Poetry has gifted me eternity’s embrace,
Its breath divine, woven through each verse.
Amid the ashen hush of a shattered city,
Poetry’s gaze still finds the endless blue,
A radiance unbroken, steadfast, pure,
Where heaven’s stairway curves into the void,
And within me, a sacred lake stirs awake.

It blossoms in moonlit dewdrops,
In the warm cradle of a thousand burning stars.
It has taught me the hymn of an immortal tongue,
The gentle grace of words against the fury of fire.
Flames consume, yet words ignite, then drift as ash
And from that ash, a tranquil world is born.
Through time’s relentless, whirling tempest,
Poetry still carves its iridescent arc.

In its touch, Urvashi remains dusky, divine,
Etched upon my heart like Mona Lisa’s silent enigma.
There, in the hush of her lips, I read the language of silence,
The first incantation of poetry’s soul.
Each word, each whisper, a spellbinding symmetry
And I dissolve into poetry, ever famished.
Even in emptiness, life resounds,
And within poetry’s sanctum, the white dove takes flight.