We Will Never Be History
Honey, no one will
Remember you if you
Decide to live with me.
We can have a big house,
One that has a huge basement;
Or one that looks like
A snow man even in summer.
Still no one will notice you.
We can have two dogs,
Both your favorite kinds.
Two cats and few exotic birds,
But no one will come
And ask for your autograph.
We can save money in
The piggy bank to buy a Mustang,
Or go to Paris in summer;
But that’s about it.
There will be no history
Written only for you.
We can have kids
Three, if you want,
But they have dirty pampers.
They will need to go to school
Everyday, and you need to
Wake up at dawn.
If you leave the world
And live with me,
You can only have myself;
Fat, ugly and different
Than most of your women
May be too deep too.
With me, you can have
Plenty of boredom and
Only occasional orgasms.
With me, you will have
No story, let alone history.
You know what you must do
To be remembered.
You need to drink and fuck
Like Bukowski, you need to
Sleep on different streets
Every night.
You will have angels with vaginas
Smelling like Dolce and Gabana’s
New summer collection.
Or Victoria Secret models who
Make everyone fall from heaven.
You can have a leading lady like
The conservative filmmaker
Or can have more than one,
Like a French auteur.
You can flirt while you work.
That will make work more interesting,
Experiential, art must be so
So I heard.
Their waxed cunts are
Much tastier than mine.
The orgasms with them
Are like the French crepes
Or mimosa in a fine dinning.
Those will make you
Live in a euphemism,
You will be calling love
The morning fog-
That goes away as the day
Advances towards the evening.
Every cunt where you lay
Your hands on, will promise
A different story.
Those are your sources
Of art, your poems, motion pictures.
Every pair of breasts
Where you delve your nose
And suck with your lusty bites
Will tell you the stories
That you need for your next film.
You can go beyond time,
You don’t have to have time tables;
You can sleep during days.
Remember, no one has to go to school.
You can just laugh and fuck
during dark and whites.
You can laugh at history,
Pastel arts, or wonder around
In the neon lights of
A sin city.
There will be no leisure for boredom,
you will never be sober enough
To be not excited.
A documentary filmmaker will
Follow you to your grave.
He will dig down your
Bones and try to stuff those
With artsy marrows.
You will never be forgotten.
Everyone will remember you,
Even the critique
Who slammed you pretty hard.
All your sins will be forgiven,
And forgotten,
With the candles, flowers and cards
From your fans.
You will be remembered and rewarded.
May be there will be someone
Who will love you too.
At least for your fame, money or
Just for yourself.
Why do you still want to be?
With me?
Why do you want to sleep?
In the same bed that always faces
The south, and far from
Every happiness?
Let me know if you
Change your mind,
Its never too late
To abort my game,
Because I can never promise you history.
Sold My Couch Today
I sold my couch today.
It was comfortable.
Spent hours on it
Thinking about him.
But old things must go.
Don’t ask me how long
It takes to get something
Old. No one ever wrote
A book on it.
May be two days, may be
A hundred years,
Why do we care?
We make it new and old
Whenever we please.
Its all in our head,
Like fear, or a
Forbidden idea,
Like making love
On an open meadow.
Like those ideas
That creeps up
In your little head
On a lonely and frustrated
But sunny afternoon.
Is it the afternoon
Or the dead of night
When people decide
On things getting old?
One day I will declare
My fears to be old
And sell those
Like a black torn
Futon. I will make
Like fifty bucks
And buy myself a
Cheap thrill.
Or, if he is here
I will dance with him
Like an English maiden.
My arms on his,
And his arms on me,
Who needs anything else
When I have him
Right next to me.
If he loves me
I will keep my old
Fear, like an
Old record player,
On the corner,
Just for the show,
and still be happy.
About the Poet
Sohana Nasrin is an international graduate assistant at Gaylord College of Journalism and Mass Communication at the University of Oklahoma. Before joining graduate studies, she worked as an editor, journalist, public relations professional and social media strategist. Reading, taking photographs, watching movies and traveling top the list of her favorite pastimes. Interior monologue is her favorite genre to explore in her literary pursuits. She is often enticed by the multitudinous feelings that are intertwined with the stream of consciousness. Some of her favorite poets are- Charles Bukowski, Pablo Neruda, Mark Stand and so on. She is a native of Dhaka, Bangladesh.
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