A Chemical Poem/I Don’t Belong- A Poem

I’m writing over the note I had madeA chemical poem dug out by a spadeLike the stains on your shirt that fadeBy the detergent- I too have blurred out, you said. Unfortunate but it’s not false at allWhen you huddled for a meeting, I was saved by a callTinkers of glasses rang through my fallThose

Crushed!

I’m allowed to weep. So, I weep. I weep in darkness and in silence. I weep calling upon God. I want my crying heard but by nobody. I want my reddened eyes noticed but by nobody. At one point last year, I had been loved and wanted by three women at once. And I couldn’t

Memories on Parole

Writing makes it easier for me to unmask myself. I could easily express myself through the words coming out at the end of my pen or my fingertips in case of typing as opposed to talking in person with someone- no matter how close to me they may be. Still, it helps having someone by

I live in a cat! part II

I’m not exactly done with what I have been clinging on to for so long– as my only support at nights now. They keep me company while the tigers sleep knowing they got a whole damn dynasty to look after. And unfortunately I’m one of the family. So long have I wanted to puff them

I miss my innocence!

Reminiscing is a luxury now. There’s a subtle difference between living in the past and living in your dreams. In the earlier case, you are restricted by memories and time. You can’t surpass what you’ve done to to the extent of what you could have done. If you somehow manage to do so, then you’re

Double Dreams

People have been known to lead double lives with double faces. I want to live double-dreams. I want an alternative, an impossibility. I want myself an escape. That’s the whole point, isn’t it? We all want the alternative. We all want the every other thing we missed. We don’t like imperfections. We are getters and

Hope is Overrated

Recently, I’ve found myself indulged more into self-realization and discoveries. Although, what I found is of no real importance to anyone else. No matter how hard I try, drawing the arc in my favor seems to be impossible. When I left home the other day (I live away from my home due to my academic

গুলকেতিন

| ১৬-১২-২০২১ জানালা কাটা বর্গ করে। বাইরে অদ্ভুত অদ্ভুত সব রঙ। পোকামাকড়ের ঝি ঝি ডাকটা অসহ্য লাগে কানে৷ এরই মাঝে গুলকেতিনের ডাক আসে। গুলকেতিন আমায় ডাকে, প্রতিদিন ই। সিঁড়ি বেয়ে একটু উপরে উঠলেই তার দেখা মেলে৷ তবুও কিসে এক বিড়ম্বনার মধ্যে ফেললো আমাকে! কি সেই পিছুটান? ভেজা কাঁথার মুড়ি ত্যাগ করা কষ্টকর মনে হয় কেমন

ধূসরিত

দুর্দান্ত কিছু মৃত্যু দেখেছি। আত্মাগুলো কান্নায় ভাঙে, প্রতিটা দিন। কাউকে কোন দোষ দেবার অধিকার হারিয়েছি জন্মের পরেই। প্রথম নিশ্বাসেই পার করে ফেলেছি নিষ্পাপত্বের মাপকাঠি৷ তবুও অসহায় চোখ খুঁজে বেড়ায় চোখের নীচে কালি ফেলার আশা।.ধূর্ত বারুদের পিছে এক উষ্ণ হাতের ছোঁয়া তো থাকেই৷ সেই হাত আবার অদৃশ্য হলে যত বিপদ! খুঁজে পাওয়া যায়না সত্যটা। শুধু নিরন্তর

Hooked In!

After writing Hollowed Out last night, and a 5.8 richter scaled earthquake waking me back into the reality from a dream I don’t quite remember (as expected), I started looking for reasons for the restlessness I was feeling lately. While that seemed like an impossible task to accomplish at the moment and the possibilities are