This week’s poem is rather disappointed and confused, a bit like politics in Bangladesh this week, where developments swing hot and cold, from despair to hope and back to despair again.

A phone call, in no particular order

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I called earlier…

No, no!

On the red phone.

Oh no, that’s a dead phone!

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Withdraw the hartal!

No, no!

For the sake of the poor!

Oh, your delusions of grandeur!

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The phone rang and rang…

No, no!

Who is claiming to hear?

Grenades damaged my ear!

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You cut cake for the killers!

No, no

You encourage war crimes!

Please – recall, I pray at all times.

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The way we’ve been treated…

No, no!

I call, I invite…

You don’t know wrong from right!

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You blast and blame us!

No, no!

You’re also a politician,

you understand my ambition…

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You’re opening a crack!

No, no!

Not the minus two solution,

no matter what constitution.

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It’s the people who suffer.

No, no!

This is what I dislike!

Will you cancel your strike?

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Let us settle the matter!

No, no!

Can’t do that, won’t do this,

Good bye and God help us…

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