My mother had a stroke,
I came late for my exam.
They said I can’t sit.
Why?
Rules.

A hundred children burned alive,
Bodies shattered under a falling jet.
The whole nation is crying,
Silent in shock, kneeling in prayer.
But the HSC exam?
That must go on.
Why?
Rules.

And now look
Those children, now martyrs,
Some see them
Nothing but next BCS questions.

These fake rules,
These empty justifications
They crush the soul,
They kill the heart
Of our boys and girls.

And then we wonder,
“Why don’t they love the country?”
“Why do they dream of fleeing abroad?”

In my theory,
Say the world has 300 sacks of rules.
You only get to use one.
And you’ve wasted it
Using up your sack
On petty control, fake order.

So now,
For the big thieves,
For the murderers,
For the bribe-takers,
No rules left.

No rules for genocide.
No rules for corruption.
Only rules
For a student whose mother is dying.
Only rules
For a nation in mourning.


We’ve tied our lungis like turbans,
Pretending to be wise.
We raise our mustaches to sip alcohol
Worrying if the mustache gets wet,
Because mustache-washed water is makruh!

What a joke we’ve become.
Lovers of garbage,
Defenders of nonsense.

But I,
I am unstoppable.
I shatter what they call order.
I am chaos with purpose.
I break the chains,
Tear the books of fake laws.

I bow to no rule
That buries love,
That mocks pain,
That kills the soul
In the name of structure.

I am not lawless,
I just allergic to lies.
I just allergic to bullshit.


Tuesday, July 22, 2025, 1:05 AM
Dhaka 1230, Bangladesh