Rainbow of Waiting
By: Ibrar Sami
Behind the clouds, the sun hides its blushing face—
from within the winding path another path begins to rise.
I forget— that on this final evening, we were meant to walk a little farther together.
On the painted wall of my dream-lit heart, the torn dreams patch themselves together, sketching fragile images—
and from those sorrow-stained frames emerges a rainbow sky.
Beneath its shadow waits a humble, downcast woman.
In the dusty twilight of memory, I wander aimlessly;
the sun, bathed and weary, stands upon the border of pain—
and you are there, while I— let myself drift along the silent current of waiting, into the light of a rainbowed sky.
24 August 2025 – 1:35 PM
Silent Union of Waiting
By: Ibrar Sami
Today, suddenly, I looked up at the sky— a single drop of rain fell, into the quiet wave of silence.
The wet air brushed my skin, my mind glowed with light— Om Shanti!
Darkness spread, like the hollow of deep stillness.
Four shadows walked together toward the far shore;
I stood apart and watched— in their hesitant eyes a hidden question gathered for me.
Touching the edge of unease, I walked through the evening veiled in nicotine smoke,
where in a cup of coffee lingered the silent union of waiting— as if from a distant nebula an invisible tune drifted near.
A coffee-thirsty stranger came close and said, “Brother, could you help a little?”
Another stood beside him, shining between laughter and shadow.
Winter rain fell, in the courtyard of cold, my hands grew numb.
Still, I looked outside— today the sky was dazzling,
yet I kept sinking into the depth of darkness, into the abstract union of light and shadow.
21 August 2025 – 7:35 PM
Silent Circle of Borders
By: Ibrar Sami
Beneath a young woman’s nightgown a fountain of desire breaks loose.
At midnight, in a flash of light, appears the invisible stain of blood.
On the wet earth lies a landless farmer’s final hope— a chest full of ruin.
In the paddy field, motionless, a headless body lies;
the scent of grain mingles with the iron smell of death.
From afar— I only see the new colors of a map bleeding into the wounds of the old.
There was no fear then of a woman’s violated body;
instead of bloodshot eyes there were eyes of honor.
Back then, freedom was ours— yours and mine— only the ways of using it differed.
By the railway tracks lies the throat-slit body of a young woman.
Around her stand countless silent faces, mere spectators.
No one looks away, only the sunlight burns the unseen wound within each soul.
I watch— a sculpture of endless inquiry, where new wine is poured into old, scarred bottles.
The city streets are no longer tarred, cracked like dry riverbeds.
In the far sky, migratory birds descend upon the circle of borders.
From their wings hang the shadows of unseen treaties;
others hover around the edges— with the signal of a single wing, the path of all is decided.
15 August 2025 – 7:35 PM
In the Pores of Silent Memory
By: Ibrar Sami
From the ruins of an ancient city, I lift the scent of a single vertebra—
in the pale history of a sorrowful archaeology, particles of soil still hold the electrons of blood.
In the attic of the mind, funeral pyres blaze and burn the dead dreams;
suddenly awaken— the endless guilt standing in the shadow of extinction.
I see the forgotten faces, hear the equations of grief and weeping.
Day fades, night descends— beneath the city’s ruins lies the blind chamber of death’s agony.
Like a collage, in guerilla fashion, I gather the dark scripts of a hundred years’ suffering.
No bodies remain— only the unbroken bones scattered through the corridors of consciousness, like a secret stealth exhibition.
I walk through the silent devastation; around me, the shadows of broken walls stretch long and coil around my feet.
Each existence suddenly collapses with a silent scream, asking— “Have you forgotten us?”
At every step, the raw scent of vertebrae enters my breath— sharp, lingering, like air bearing witness to an unseen crime.
The smell never fades, because— in every pore of history its trace still hides.
11 August 2025 – 7:25 PM
Collage of Cleavage
By: Ibrar Sami
Now I know— the time has come for me to enter the war.
On the canvas of water unfolds the exhibition of your cleavage— before the final curve of your smile disappears, letters of red fire ignite in my chest:
“No freedom without resistance!”
I didn’t yet understand— why the tender saplings on the rooftop garden suddenly lost their color, standing stiff and gray on the battlefield’s edge.
Why, in the atoms of your body, is woven an unfinished declaration— “That’s just how I am!”
Perhaps— when the last light of day dies, the roar of battle devours the dark.
Abstract shadows of waiting crawl like guerilla verses across my chest, drawing maps of fire— each line a slogan:
“Break the occupation!”
“Dispel the dark!”
“Raise the flag!”
Listen, comrade, listen— this war is not mine alone, it is yours, and his, and all who still keep their blood warm inside their hearts.
We will tear the face of night and raise the flag of dawn— until the last darkness melts into water beneath our feet.
14 August 2025 – 2:25 PM
Colony Drawn in Blood
By: Ibrar Sami
One day, a secret blood-sucking mosquito drained a drop of blood from my body— that very day I realized— its thirst would one day reach the rivers within your body too.
Then, one day, our chromosomes merged in an invisible womb, and in a pillow of darkness was born an unfamiliar being— half light, half shadow.
Its face curves like a question mark, its roots of pain gather in every pore.
It sits inside the shadow, where noon is silent and evening exhausted.
It longs to rule— to tear apart the forest, to destroy the dreams of green wilderness, where humans build safe havens.
Hidden in its rage is the mark of a great sorrow.
It floats upon water, its stomach holds the hunger of birth, and in human blood it paints a dark, corrupted city.
The human body is its map— veins and arteries become the lines of a new colony.
Standing upon bridges of blood, it constructs an invisible empire— where blood, bodies, love— everything becomes its instrument of power.
Our blood merges with its hunger, and inside you and me it builds an unseen bridge— as if the chains of chromosomes bind even our existence into a colony drawn in blood.
17 August 2025 – 7:45 PM
Author Bio:
Ibrar Sami is a Bangladeshi poet whose work moves through silence, memory, and the invisible borders that shape human existence. His poems often drift like nebulae—quiet, luminous, and charged with the tension of waiting—while tracing the fractures of a world stitched together by longing and shadowed history. Through images of cosmic distance, fragile unions, and blood-drawn cartographies, he explores how personal and collective memory overlap in haunting, intimate ways. His writing offers a collage of inner landscapes where silence becomes a language and the unseen becomes profoundly alive.
Navy Pen 