Found Too Late-

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What became of him, the poet who lived here
The one with eternal sadness
With gloomy and tired eyes
And a beguiling smirk
He used to write in that coffee shop

What became of him, the poet who sat on this table
One with coffee stained pages
Gulped the pleasure when he wrote
With rough tender hands
He used to cry in the cemetery

What became of him, the poet who cried on this grave
One that trembled on his knees
With tears rolling down his cheeks
And laid a tulip on the tombstone
He used to stand on the old bridge

What became of him, the poet who stood here
One with messy hair
And a coat that swayed
With cold winds from the sea
He used to love that lady around the corner

What became of him, the poet who loved you
One that only sang for you
You are telling me he’s dead
and that his demons devoured him
He used to be a good man, shame

What became of him, the winter poet

By
Atta ul Kibria

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Untitled-

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 For so long, they did me wrong
I seek shelter from you, my Lord
The tyranny of this world, for I can not endure

I beseech you for tranquility
For I’ve known none nor can I dwell

All these years that passed by
I’ve slenderly known myself

If I enrage you or I deviate
From the vows that I took
Strike upon my heart, your lighting

For I’ve entitled myself to tormenting

But for the present when it rains
I pray to you, let these water drops
Wash away my sins
Bestow upon me some grace
So I can shed my skin like a serpent

Hear my plea, in this tormenting rain
Forgive me before, my blood is not warm

By
Atta ul Kibria

 

Poet’s Revenge-

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The rants and the verses
Of a venomous man
The poet of the winter
Chased out of his land

He was kicked to the ground
Beaten when he was weak
Abused by his people
Those sinners and those thieves

He cried and screamed
The day he left
He’ll kill them all
Make them pay for the theft

Burning in vengeance
He lived in the devil’s womb
Hunting for words
So he can build their tomb

With a pen in his hand
Writing his verses, completing his poem
Those killers of his
He wanted them to know him

He’s back to his land
To get his revenge
All the souls they burned
Will now be avenged

They’ll cry for mercy
And rue their incivility
Pull the hair off their heads
When he’ll sing their futility

They woke up the beast
When they hurt his heart
Now he’ll hunt them with words
And tear them apart

By
Atta ul Kibria

The Winter Reborn-

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He stands in the hailstorm
Back from the light, now he’s home
With wind blowing his hair
Walking to his demon’s lair

As the snow blankets the land
He fleets through, blood on his hand
He’s been gone for so long
It is the winter where he belong

Writing in the chilly breezes
Darkness prevails, the crimson freezes
He thought he changed, but he was wrong
The Winter Poet reborn

By
Atta ul Kibria

 

Young Blood-

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Young blood flowing through his veins
He’s just a dead man walking stray
His demons dancing, oh let it rain crimson
Tap and sway at the sound of jazz
The full moon casting its magic on mosiac
Dancing madly, the misty poet
Possessed by the notes of darkness
Rosita, Lolita, Oh señorita
Hold my hand, swirl and faint
In my arms, your stare in my eyes
The young poet sways tonight
The young poet prays tonight
The crimson is red tonight

By
Atta ul Kibria

 

A Love Lost-

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A love lost, a dream shattered
Echoes of her laugh, a faith tattered

The lilac sky, a dying sun
insolence of love, now let him burn

God bless the corners of her smile
Her timid heart, his demons so vile

Made her his queen, his love her crown
A lovely betrayal, left him to drown

For a moment he thought, he forgot to swim
His demons rocked his heart, he starts to swim

The darkness, the demons, his old friends
Saved him from his bitter end

Not made for love, now he know it
The resurrection of The Crimson Poet

By
Atta ul Kibria

 

The Blacksmith-

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Like a sting of the cold steel
That urge for forgiveness, every time you kneel
Quit it, lets ride back to start
For there isn’t much time, before your soul depart

Like a shimmer of the shiny gold
Bound to deceit, if truth be told
Necklace around their neck, jewels to embellish
Pomp and greed, none else to relish

Like a scent of the rusty iron
Fears the air but cages the lion
Soon to be vanquished, to be effaced
But still remains the blacksmith’s grace

Like a clatter of the starry silver
Power and justice, cries and shiver
Carried by the Knight and the Dame
Mere words of it, puts gold to shame

By
Atta ul Kibria

A Chapel On Fire-

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Beam of light tearing through the emerald window glass
The preacher on his knees, hands clutched together to pray
Holy water dripping down the chalice of brass
A trial of faith, let it begin today

Mouth mumbling verses, calling his Lord
The dove flapped its wings on the high ceilings
With trembling hands, a little wine he poured
Fear and strength, a tapestry of feelings

The blood flowed, bodies beheaded
Martyrs of belief, of ones who believed
The clash of faiths, the poet always dreaded
The preacher sobs, the menace revealed

It’s the chapel’s gold they want to rob
Torches in their hands, daggers in their cloaks
They barred the door, the evil mob
As they light up the chapel and its folks

Where the scream sound distant, is the poet
Watching and writing, birth of evil he mourn
Too weak his faith, not enough words to fight
Yet another chapel, destined to burn

By
Atta ul Kibria

 

Reignite-

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He’s lost, he wanders endlessly
Around the realm of impiety
A heart soaked in sins
A mind filled with treacherous games
Sweat flows down the texture of his skin
As he sit in a half lit room
Hair falling over his forehead
And eyes tired with scarlet cracks
Remedy between his fingers
As he blows the pain away
A cloud of smoke
Engulfing his cursed existence
With a dream to reignite
And a hope for tomorrow
With a passion to love
And a hope for a lover
With scars on his body
And a hope to endure
He spares his sorry life
For it is not his to take
Whilst living in a world
Living amongst people so fake
He writes away his pain
His sorrows, the demons he has slain
He writes his love, his life
Until the very end
The day his bloody self
Is called the crimson poet

By
Atta ul Kibria

 

Somewhere In Milan-

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The sun shines on the Milan sky
They standing outside the floral shop
The scarlet roses on ivory tiles
And she dressed in blue
He held her close
So close, he could sniff her hair
Her enchanting scent and her lovely stare
Under the shadow of Milan cathedral
She rests her head on his shoulder
Notes of choir and the holy organ
Carried them away to the realm of Gods
Gods and Goddesses
They envy their love
For there’s no good a wine
They sipped on the Navigli bank
When the sun goes down
And the fireflies illuminate the canal
A reflection below
With stars above
A constellation of love
The full moon ‘bright and glorious’
Swayed with the saxophone tune
As they lay together
Sharing their warmth
Cherishing the magic hours

Two lovers of Italy
Dreaming of a love in Milan

By
Atta ul Kibria