Sunday Poem By Nasima Khatun

DEMENTIA

It was six o’clock probably,
Took my bike, rushed to home,
Knew no reason, I was called suddenly.
Things I could think of were only some—

Crashing by a car,
Bobbed up a metallic tusk.
Pointing up in the glimmering azure,
Darkness was brought by the arrival of dusk.

Laid there like an orphan,
Isn’t it strange that there’s no slant?
This might be the reason, I scorned autumn,
My mind was numbed for a brief moment.

While thinking aimlessly,
Felt like it wasn’t accidental,
Then I blamed my family,
Wished I had never got the call.

What might have happened at home,
Numerous thoughts were connected.
Will they ever come?
Or simply, I’ll get neglected;

Why did I have to hurry, I grumbled,
Blamed myself as much as I could.
Asked the crowd for some aid,
They did nothing, gawking me withstood.

It was strange, I couldn’t feel any pain,
I was scared, I screamed my lungs out.
All of my efforts went to vain,
Discerning incompetently, gloominess be-sprout.

Laying in the hospital bed,
Endeavoured to evoke with my weak labor
“Oh for you none came,” they said
No reminiscence were found of my yesteryear.