Title: More Than Just A Delivery
Date Written: 01/11/2024
Written By: MD. Imjamul Hoque Bhuiyan
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I came to her doorstep, a package in hand,
Just another delivery, yet something more so.
For there she stood, with a spark in her eyes—
A doctor by day, with dreams that rise.
Through her Facebook, I came to see,
A love for caffeine and culinary spree.
She’s a healer at heart, but in every sip,
She finds a comfort, a gentle grip.
With ... moreTitle: More Than Just A Delivery
Date Written: 01/11/2024
Written By: MD. Imjamul Hoque Bhuiyan
----------------------------------------------------
I came to her doorstep, a package in hand,
Just another delivery, yet something more so.
For there she stood, with a spark in her eyes—
A doctor by day, with dreams that rise.
Through her Facebook, I came to see,
A love for caffeine and culinary spree.
She’s a healer at heart, but in every sip,
She finds a comfort, a gentle grip.
With coffee in hand, she starts each dawn,
A ritual she’s crafted, her own quiet song.
And come the night, she’s tasting and trying,
Every flavor that keeps her from sighing.
In that brief exchange, I caught a glimpse
Of a life lived richly, without pretense.
A doctor, a dreamer with tastes so keen—
She drinks in the world, savouring each scene.
When the day started with the sunrise and an uniform,
A white shirt, navy blue pants, white socks & pair of black shoes.
Where excitement was all about being with friends,
And eating lunch in middle of the class was a trend,
Waiting for the sports period and for ring of bell to play with those whose nicknames are invented so well,
Those pen fightings and asking monitor to rub your name from board,
And wandering on corridors to every floors,
That feeling of w... moreTitle: Flavours of Childhood
When the day started with the sunrise and an uniform,
A white shirt, navy blue pants, white socks & pair of black shoes.
Where excitement was all about being with friends,
And eating lunch in middle of the class was a trend,
Waiting for the sports period and for ring of bell to play with those whose nicknames are invented so well,
Those pen fightings and asking monitor to rub your name from board,
And wandering on corridors to every floors,
That feeling of wearing special dress on your birthdays
And giving an extra candies to your special guys,
The art of your computer class on the paint that no one understood
To the games with friends and that food,
From bunking periods to bunking school
While thinking teachers are fools,
Those cartoons you watched with your mom to fights with siblings for the remote to watch Tom and Jerry
Those 'videos' you saw while being scared of getting caught
To those beautiful summer and winter holidays whom extension you sought,
Those group studies before the exams
And borrowing pencil for diagrams,
That beauty of english teacher to the english of the sports teacher,
That feeling of first sight of your crush to that first love,
That bell of school`s last two minutes where the watch tik-toks slowly
Where everything ends & start a new
Those evening meet-ups,
Those tutions,
Those breakup's
Which made you cry in those sleepless nights,
That feeling to end everything while feeling love is nothing
But still that friend kept you together while someone left for forever,
Where the old fight ended while the new one began as you soothe,
And the flavours of the childhood becomes the flavours of the youth...
Title: Love Is Roses, Love Is Thorns
--------------------------------
Love begins, so pure and bright.
Its petals unfurl with fragrant grace,
A delicate smile on both lovers' face.
But hidden among the petals so fair,
Are thorns that lovers must be aware.
Love is not all sweetness and light,
It weaves in challenges, day and night.
Through sunny days and stormy weather,
Love stands strong, linked together.
Roses bloom, and thorns may sting,
Yet love endures, an eternal thing.
The bea... moreTitle: Love Is Roses, Love Is Thorns
--------------------------------
Love begins, so pure and bright.
Its petals unfurl with fragrant grace,
A delicate smile on both lovers' face.
But hidden among the petals so fair,
Are thorns that lovers must be aware.
Love is not all sweetness and light,
It weaves in challenges, day and night.
Through sunny days and stormy weather,
Love stands strong, linked together.
Roses bloom, and thorns may sting,
Yet love endures, an eternal thing.
The beauty of love, like a blooming rose,
In its embrace, our hearts compose.
But thorns remind us of reality's art,
Love requires courage from the very start.
In the garden of love, we'll often find,
Moments of joy and tears intertwined.
Embracing both, we learn and grow,
Love's fragrant blooms, its thorns bestow.
Love's thorns, though they may cause pain,
Strengthen the bond, not in vain.
For through hardships, love takes flight,
Like a rose that still blooms, so bright.
In love's embrace, people change and mend,
Sacrifices made, broken hearts to mend.
The tapestry of life, love weaves,
In roses' hues and thorns it leaves.
Now, as the day's light gently adjourns,
Let's express love in all its turns.
In the language of poetry, our hearts adorn,
For love is roses, and love is thorns.
"Welcome Little Angel"
I know you there and you hear me,
This is for you, little angel I mean,
Welcoming you to this world we dwell,
The world that can make you ill and well,
And you will have to be strong for it,
Enough to overcome its anonymous heat
Welcome to your world,
Where you will have to learn each word,
A world where your ability is power,
And your careless will gain you a flower,
But with your mummy here all will be ok,
Each day she will be pa... moreTitle: Welcome, Little Angel
"Welcome Little Angel"
I know you there and you hear me,
This is for you, little angel I mean,
Welcoming you to this world we dwell,
The world that can make you ill and well,
And you will have to be strong for it,
Enough to overcome its anonymous heat
Welcome to your world,
Where you will have to learn each word,
A world where your ability is power,
And your careless will gain you a flower,
But with your mummy here all will be ok,
Each day she will be part of your essay.
Let me whisper a secret for you,
Here each day you will enjoy the sky’s blue,
Each morning you will enjoy the bird’s melody,
Each minute you will see your care’s comedy,
Each year you will have your birthday ceremony,
And all this will be always in your memory.
Hello, little mummy’s pride,
I wish I would be with you there inside,
Holding you before anyone else here,
Because I’m waiting for your cry to hear,
Cry that will make your daddy happy,
Cry that will save your mum from crappy.
I would like to say it all but can’t finish,
While the time keeps on diminishing,
But I going to place a comer here,
And as soon you are out, more you will hear,
Your good friends here, await and care for you,
Soon each of them, your name will woo.
Some say farming is a skill
But I think it is a talent
Spinning the ground
Smashing the soil
Crushing the land
It’s a God-given knowledge indeed
The farmer never chooses their Jembe
Small or big the depth has to be reached
Old or new the weeds have to salute the master
Time never matters,
Always is ready for the work
It is the call, profession that never washed away
A perfect farmer always is jealousy
Never likes sharing the land out
But it is funny, the... more#Poetry
Title: The Farmer
Some say farming is a skill
But I think it is a talent
Spinning the ground
Smashing the soil
Crushing the land
It’s a God-given knowledge indeed
The farmer never chooses their Jembe
Small or big the depth has to be reached
Old or new the weeds have to salute the master
Time never matters,
Always is ready for the work
It is the call, profession that never washed away
A perfect farmer always is jealousy
Never likes sharing the land out
But it is funny, they can give service elsewhere
Can steal someone’s else farm
For their own, it is like walking into a den
The farmer is always the farmer
Teachers grow old and retire
Doctors grow old and take a rest from their career
Priests grow old and get weak in their mission
Farmers the older they are, the more experienced
Tender grounds seeking for old grown farmer
Some say it is because of fertilizer, but farmers never get old
Farming is the basic and primary work in this world
Farming brings life into the life
Farming chase away stress
Farming needs no degree; a God-given gift
Disagree and say no, but answer me this,
Who taught you to tilt, screw, smash, crush and weed the farm?
Hello mommy,
It's me your Unborn Child.
I'm just a tiny someone,
Floating in your tummy,
Feeling snug and warm.
When you and daddy made me
You gave me life
You gave me a HEARTBEAT
And God gave me a soul.
I'm growing a little bit every day,
And soon I'll get my own fingers and toes.
Once my ears have developed properly,
I'll be able to hear the sound of your voice.
And now you have decided to do the unthinkable,
But why?
What did I do wrong?
I did... moreTitle: Cry Of An Unborn Child
Hello mommy,
It's me your Unborn Child.
I'm just a tiny someone,
Floating in your tummy,
Feeling snug and warm.
When you and daddy made me
You gave me life
You gave me a HEARTBEAT
And God gave me a soul.
I'm growing a little bit every day,
And soon I'll get my own fingers and toes.
Once my ears have developed properly,
I'll be able to hear the sound of your voice.
And now you have decided to do the unthinkable,
But why?
What did I do wrong?
I didn't ask to come into the world,
Just because you choose to be irresponsible
I should not have to suffer,
So please please tell me
What did I do to make you want to kill me?
Do you not love me?
Do you hate me?
Why why why?
Please tell me why?
You don't want me anymore.
Why do you want to murder me?
Why do I cycle?
Why do I need to see my wheels go round and round on the tarmac?
The bicycle is a means of transport, an old one.
You look at it, it charms you.
It makes you travel,
It makes you fly,
You can seek the infinite with it.
The bicycle is one, basically,
But every place in the world makes different use of it.
In the richest countries,
It is mainly used for sport
And to get around town, in the middle of traffic.
In the les... more#Poetry #BicycleDay
Title: World Bicycle Day
Why do I cycle?
Why do I need to see my wheels go round and round on the tarmac?
The bicycle is a means of transport, an old one.
You look at it, it charms you.
It makes you travel,
It makes you fly,
You can seek the infinite with it.
The bicycle is one, basically,
But every place in the world makes different use of it.
In the richest countries,
It is mainly used for sport
And to get around town, in the middle of traffic.
In the less wealthy countries,
They use it to push through life.
In Bangladesh, people bring fruits and vegetables on their bicycles,
To go sell them at the market.
For all children around the world,
Bicycle means diversion and freedom, it is fun.
It is the same feeling shared by all those adults,
Who moves on two wheels, wealthy or poor, it doesn’t matter.
That breeze against the skin of your face,
That feeling of freedom that allures you
And turns you into a slave, forever.
As cyclists,
We are looking for challenges,
For physical exertion,
For the next journey.
But, above all, we are seeking freedom.
It is the desire to escape from it all that makes us pedal relentlessly.
Open spaces or tough climbs.
On the bike, I savour everything to the full.
I live every moment.
I discover places that otherwise I could not see.
When I get on my bike I feel no boundary or limit.
I am a conqueror,
And every time is a little great quest, body and mind.
I pedal for hours; miles of road, miles of thoughts.
I think about my life,
My dreams, the past and the future.
I imagine and I live,
Because the bike is life and emotions.
On the flat, downhill and up a climb.
#Poetry
Mother's Day Special Poem
Title: The World In A World
I met her.
The greatest creature ever.
She is confident,
Strong and selfless.
Let the world know that without Her,
We live in a void.
I respect Her because she respects Herself.
Upon Her many struggles in life,
She isn't remembered!
How can the world tend to forget a great world?
Why do we think She can not lead us from grass to grace?
Why do we think She is too inferior to lead us in worship?
Why do we forget the world... more#Poetry
Mother's Day Special Poem
Title: The World In A World
I met her.
The greatest creature ever.
She is confident,
Strong and selfless.
Let the world know that without Her,
We live in a void.
I respect Her because she respects Herself.
Upon Her many struggles in life,
She isn't remembered!
How can the world tend to forget a great world?
Why do we think She can not lead us from grass to grace?
Why do we think She is too inferior to lead us in worship?
Why do we forget the world that gave as a world?
Let me lose my head like Saint John the Baptist.
In my way,
In many analyses through the lane of my thoughts,
Given my conclusion,
She is a Great World living in a world.
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