Lost Soul

There’s this fleeting feeling,

It comes and goes.

Do I run towards it or away

I do not know.

This desire is like her dare,

Leaves no winner, no loser.

Either I’m hers, wrapped by her love

Or I’m nowhere.

Poets and writers, give me power

To style her the way you’d do,

Fair words, hypnotic verses

Not an objective left unused.

She’s rage, she spreads like wildfire

Like a big storm, waiting for a bit

of thunder.

A mess; not so nice, pure or polite


She’s art, if art could be sin.

Do I love her or worship her,

Where does one begin, other end?

Is she the biggest heartbreak

Waiting to happen?

First Published
First and Multidimensional Queer Women’s Collective of Bangladesh

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