Dear November
An open letter to the universe,
hoping that it actually listens.
Please, treat me gently this month.
My fragile heart’s been pining and
It splits into myriads of suffocating ‘me’- gasping for air;
Amid a carnage, yearning for a peace unattainable.
Dear November, be kind. I believe
A little bit of kindness doesn’t hurt, does it?
Take me in your lullful wind of early winter;
Wrap me in the warm quilt of my own agony;
Or, if possible, plant me amid the beds of flowers-
waiting to be bloomed.
Can I, a broken shell of a human, bloom too if buried deeper in the ground?
Ask me, what I want.
In a sea of flowers, I want to be a marigold; so bury me softly.
Dear November, let me bloom.
Solitary Rain
Each day comes with perpetual sadness.
And I, a fleeting dot in this maddening whirlwind
I only tried to find a sheltering sky.
Where my two arms, one head, and trembling feet will fit right
But from nowhere, the siren rings-
like a blaring alarm, vigorously.
At that moment, I knew there was no place left to hide.
Before long, it started to rain, the rain of infernal machines, and the time fused.
I searched everywhere, but
Everything was out of reach for me.
The sky, the ground, the river—everything
Magically vanished. Only I, a deplorable me,
Remained. The rain stopped after an eternity, and I remember crying blood.
Then I saw people flying kites, people on picnics on boats, and people watering their gardens.
And understood, only I was stuck in the war.
It only rained upon me.
Sanjida Afrin is a creative writer and an English literature graduate. She currently serves as a faculty member at Chittagong Independent University. Her writing style is characterized by a focus on language and diction, and she endeavours to create vivid imagery of familiar life in her writing. She has published several short stories and poems both in Bengali and English. She loves to read and explore new genres.
Aloka 