Seventy Thousand Books

—Mobaidul Sagor

I want to die after reading seventy thousand books!
No more than eleven poems shall I write!
To the tune that quenches every taste of life,
May death grip me as I keep listening!
I will remember the city of Shravasti,
The lady in a white saree,
Sighs etched upon brick walls.
The weight of those eyes will turn
Light and dissolve in the deluge,
Across the covers of seventy thousand books.

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