The Loss We Nurture

What's the trouble with talking, weakling cuckoo?
Nutritious grains, food and drink, meals...do you eat them?

On Ghalib's carpet, the stern-faced elders' abuse!
Let something happen today, then!

Rice and bottle gourd's shelter,
goats scattered everywhere.
—Give me an answer, quick!

The shaking is from the storm...
The tomato is sour...

Sharp-tongued grandmother, grandfather of Thakurgaon...
"Let the bandits call if they will!"

The okra-like drum with dhak and dhol in Dhaka...
No, no, no famous kneeling worshipper here.

The first round of introductions?
A pale catalog of finge flowers.

Can you bottle this ache in the chest?
Better to break it; keeping it safe is torment.

Death's illusion, meeting of minds, tenderness dying;
if the young women must go, let them go—
will only mustard seeds remain daily in the kitchen!?

In people's greed and lust, even cultivated losses turn profitable.