My diary on the sea coast

My Diary on the Seaside by Kh. Atiar Rahman

It was hard to pass into the valley,
In the trap of hills, the magnets have fallen there.
Each has an attraction as if a lodestone pulls over,
I have known the place since my visit,
On the icy land, it seems to be hard and painstaking.
In every moment, my knuckles are grazed with frostbite
To strengthen the biting stress in life's race.
It is my diary stitched in the mind with rock salts
In the cooking utensils, mixed with meadow.
Rather than moving on to the electric strips
For overcoming the hurdles of the mind among risks
Underneath the stretched roots of the trees.
In the dark ocean bars of the shark, angrily tethering
For grasping all the enemies at a glance, as if
Saturn and Jupiter are facing together to banish
From the earth and water in the deep ocean of the Atlantic.
Like the sweet voice in the dreams of a lady
Who are unmarried but are immersed in the moon
My diary supplements messages to do something.
For the meadow upon the soil where nature flourishes
Day and night, to grow lively leaves of the plants
To produce shades of peace everlasting hereinafter.