Headless Rabindranath Poem by Zillur Rahman Shuvro

One yellow night headless Rabindranath came to me
Modestly I had offered him a cup of green tea.
He was agitated and asked me, ‘Is poem scree? '
Some poets think poems are like leaves of tree
And whimsically they push the tree like wizard
The poems of now-a-days are the garland of complex words—
No meaningful message, no social values, no dreamy hint, no philosophy,
No sensation, no significance, no impulsion and no mind's therapy.
The caterwauls of the poets assume the horrid form, disgusting culture!
He wrote a poem of four lines for me before his shocking departure—
‘I'm not here but I'm here
I'm not there but I'm there.
Still my all creativeness fly like the sea-gull of the sea
All stars of the sky lament for me and boast of me.'
Reading the poem I was stunned! What's essence! I'm ashamed!
We're not writing poems but vomiting hundreds and hundreds.
These plastic poems will go rapidly into the mouth of Ludo's snake
I've head but what is being written by me all are fake.