Dead Roses and Dead Soul

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Dead Roses and Dead Soul No one saw his major loss


Every morning 
walking up to miles
he collects roses
with the hope
he can give them to her one day Every afternoon
forgetting disappointments
he collects hope
with the dream 
she will be with him one day Even by the end of the day,
those fading roses on his desk
and depressed soul within him,
both continue to live
with a desire of reconciliation someday Times changed
but she didn’t. His soul continues to breathe
he sprays water to roses
hoping neither of them dies
hoping they both live for one more day
where they can hope for one more. She never came back
she decided she won’t. Roses withered and died
his soul grieved and died.
He buried roses and his soul
with no hope of a further journey
with no desire for tomorrow. All saw dead roses
being sorry for its loss
but the dead soul within him
no one cared to search
and remained invisible forever. Suraj Ghimire 2020 This poem was first posted on https://medium.com/storymake

The dark side of Bangladeshi Immigrants in Qatar.


This aspect of the Immigrant workers working in the Gulf has always been vividly known, yet unspoken. As a storyteller within me longs to speak about their life, I write this post specifically dedicated to people from Bangladesh. There are also Nepalese and Indian who have suffered, but it's the Bangladeshi who has suffered most. I wish there were any human rights and civil society speaking about this, but No, it has hardly been spoken, let alone addressed. And it appears this way is set to continue for a long time. Kindly help this spread by sharing and liking. I shall appreciate your comments/feedback

Further reading at Medium

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