Writer's own thoughts!

  Goddess, you are a diva.  A soul unleashed from heavens,  Not for the weak, not for the meek,  Not for the mean, not for the opportunists.  You are a part of the archive scripted predestined - pristine.  You were stripped open in the middle of the field.  That day angels in disguise of colorful butterflies were warning you,  Even a pickpocket warned you about the doom, But, you didn’t pay heed.  You weren’t connected with your higher soul then so you dodged a bullet. In the form of love potion,  You swallowed what was meant to cause death to you.  But, do you think that killed you?! Instead you revived.  You have rebuilt yourself from the scratch. After the endings begins the beginning.  The beginning of the spring,  New seasons.  Fallen leaves withers away, so does the fallen souls. They can't skip to the best part just by swindling.  You are in the verge of completion now. An entirety of a cycle.  Y...

Do you think people die in lack of love? Adam?! Don’t you see them living, laughing, eating, dressing, walking, working so well?!  What actually changes in them when they lose love?!  When they get stripped of what they thought was theirs?! Theirs only?! We humans like to possess.  We like to belong.  We tend to cling to an identity,  To a cause.  When all reasons are removed they do live. They walk, eat, sleep, work.  Dress better.  But, they forget to like the life they live.  They forget to connect deeply. They become rootless.  They no more belong.  Instead, they become their own root-  Head high.  Nothing lowers them nor do they lower themselves for another.  The height and weight of this can never be measured.  Those who don't have any depth can not fathom! Who are they and what they have become!  They have become a mountain.  A steady one.  Adventurers admire them,  But, they don't...

 No human is to be experimented, To be abused,  To be exploited for your field your desires.  But, a few shallow people before knowing their own depth tend to cut down other's length.   They get used.  They use people.  They do experiments,  They themselves get experimented.  They transfer experiences of shallowness to others.  Everything they touch decomposes.  Decomposition is their love language.  Where acts of service are denied.  The door of eden once opened won't be closed.  The snake in the garden keeps crawling in the crowd.  The innocence of Adam is robbed by the mechaivillan spirit.  The apple of desire becomes the discord,  The thorn stuck in the throat.  But, he was supposed to be loved.  She was too.  Unconditionally, uncontrollably, unfathomably loved.  Do they get the love they deserve?!  Or, instead they reduce their worth of love?!  Adam at the brink of 'Se...

When time dictates you to leave,  Your things get unorganized,  Matters unsolved,  Your mind occupied.  Occupied with newer things to fix and older things to sort out.  When time dictates you to leave,  You outgrow the need to stay, The need to belong. Still, you have got some connections to cherish with, To hold close to your heart.  Still, you have some matters to disclose. Some matters to close for sure.  You grow stronger with the voices in your head. With charmers besides.  You have known till now what belongingness means and now you are learning how to detach from where once you belonged.  The longings become insignificant in front of your callings. You are the chosen one, You have disclaimers and even biggest disclosures. You have ridden a marry-go-round circle in a hefty motion.  No mercy,  No merrymaking,  No fantasies.  Everything crushed under the heavy weight of the dead weights of detached souls, places a...

After leaving you as if I have left my skin.  Now, I am bare naked.  Everyone can see me- my pain, my anxiety, my fears, my worries.  You were my skin,  Now, I am all open to bugs and pests.  Infectious affections. Everybody else sees my pain but nobody sees the strength behind it.  You are my strength and length of fortitude. My solitude is pure for you, Reserved only for the unfiltered.  If you have ever unfolded your skin to me,  Remember that I'll be your skin too. I can see through you- your hidden losses and miseries.  But, will you be the same to me?! Would you be able to mend me, bend me, heal me?!  Will you understand my language of long silence?! Will you memorize the syntax of it?!  Will you learn the grammer of fixing?!  Or, would you only taste the skin I show you?! Would you not touch the skin that I hide beneath the white symphony wrapped under the laces? That skin has textures of fears and memories,  Trajec...

 No amount of self-love can make me forget you, Neither the distractions. Work disguised as healthy distractions could not dissolve a fraction of your memories.  I am suffering eternally and internally,  I am suffering in my deathbed waiting to see a glimpse of you.  A decade passed, still I am in love with you.  A decade passed, still I couldn’t find anyone like you.  Oh, the precious jewel of mine,  I am in a bereavement of losing you.  Doomed in the eternal hell fire of guilt and regret,  I keep circling around on the same point where I left you.  I am my own spade, slowly I am killing everything good left in me.  I am my own disaster, I sway everything with real intensity,  Electrified for the new but terrified for the old.  It's a life story turned blue.  It's a love story turned in hue.  It's a turnover of a repeated telecast, Each time I return to the same place where I left you.  Alone, holy and unco...

 He was seventeen,  She was too.  They were college sweethearts, Lovers of the town.  They were friends before they even started anything.  First love at the prime.  Unforgettable.  Unbearable.  They never did anything.  No heavy crossing of boundaries. His eyes would say what he would do for his lady. Her eyes would know what that mean. But, fate had some other thoughts. It intervened.  A devil cloak came in between.  They lost their love.  Parted ways.  His hands never held hers.  His lips never touched hers.  She was caged untill Twenty three.  She is still a prisoner.  A prisoner of the cage of fate, love and despair.  What a tragedy!  She lost her blessings.  Now, she is a cursed witch waiting to be dethroned by the upper hand because she knows she is even unable to lead. Each day she sleeps to her deathbed,  Trying to make her doubts and worries asleep. ©® Farheen Akter Bhuian ...

You were my appetite, Now, I am in a conflicting dilemma. I want you in every encounter, The same as you—young as rose petals, After you, I am on a diet. Each interaction causes me guilt—Eve felt the same guilt after making you fall from grace. After leaving the paradise, she never tasted the apple the same way. The apple of love and desire. She has spent a fortitude of time in silence. Since then, she has lost all appetite for men  unlike you, And she has fallen for the ones who just seemed like you. The appearance might be alike, but not the demeanor. What she is looking for is not in everybody, Not everyone can be you. You are irreplaceable. That's why she is burning in an eternal hellfire of regrets and guilt. She lost the 'Purest' form of human. The purest essence, The patience, The love, The care. She keeps cursing herself that she could keep you the 'same', The purest of all, Reserved only for her. She could only give you all the experiences that you would pr...

T he girl reframes her fears as strength,  She is scared to go out and then she claims It's danger, She is scared of real intimacy and then she says they all want the same.  The girl wants to recalibrate but she is stuck in a bad memory that told her she wasn't loved but exploited,  She wants to move forward but she keeps repeating attracting the same who wants her body not her soul.  She wants to whisper her soul's story but she couldn’t find anyone who can listen to her thoughts,  But, it seems she is looking for something miraculous.  But, whatever finds her way somehow comes out to be malicious.  She looks into the infinity and it seems to her it's her imagination,  She is happy in her  bubbles of imaginations.  She is safe there.  No harm.  No delusions. But, now at the end of the day, she understands  the demons  of her imagination are eating her- alive in a grotesque manner,  Gradually and slowly, she is t...

A black widow in the passageway,  Always waiting, always recalibrating,  But never initiating.  She is stuck in her darkened nights with an armored blazer.  Cold nights don’t frighten her anymore. She is friends with demons.  A black widow in her prime, She is the occurrence, and she is the time. A black widow in the passageway— Not merely waiting, but curating silence, thread by thread, she weaves a boundary between intrusion and selfhood. Silence is her power, Steadiness her strength, Firmness is her obsession, Not merely stubbornness but a cure. She holds her unhealed heart in a vacuum  and never fills it with venom. Venom of passionate love that is not meant to stay. Though she keeps peeping from the side eyes that want to catch a sight, A gaze of wisdom, Perhaps the wisdom of loss has taught her prevention. Whilst the wisdom of preservation has taught her not to surrender— To any situation, That may involve a compromise of persona, and that would belit...

 The girl with long, straight black hair and straight eyes looks into you, Looks through your soul. The girl with long, straight hair and a straight face sits in front of you, Smile on her face, spark lost in her eyes, Trying to speak your mind, but she knows what it wants to say. You just want to grab her from the back and attain her length. To her, she has come across a long road—a rocky one. She has witnessed bloodshed. Loss of lives—all wasted. Loss of love—all haunted. Loss of autonomy—all replaced.  Loss of feelings—all rampaged. She represses what she loves the most. She loves love and wants to reciprocate. But she knows too much. She knows it will end before even arriving. She knows what depth is. So, the girl with long, straight black hair and a long, straight face is scared of superficial shadows. She is scared of the moon that holds back its stature. She is scared of the stars that tell different tales but end up in different spaces! She is scared of possession. So,...

  একটা গোটা ইতিহাস লিখেছি বেনামে, এবার আরেকটা ইতিহাস লিখব-  সম্পূর্ণ আমার নামে- আমার জন্যে! I have sculpted an entire history for others,  Now I will write another story-  This time only for me, for my own sake!  ©®

  Still I have desires in me when I see you in red,  Still I can feel the warmth of your skin under the scorching heat. Still I can feel the urge of immensely loving you,  Finding myself having an infatuating connection with you. Still I can see my eyes rolling backwards and I smile when I occasionally see you.  Still I have that fire that can burn the bridges and entire cities.  Still I love swings and I would love you to scroll down me. Red suits you.  So does the quiet smile on your face.  Still I think I can fall in love,  Only if you are brave enough to chase and confess to me!  ©® Farheen Akter Bhuian Nancy  Time stamp: 10 pm, Lake. 16th april, 2026

  In the eyes of the beholder, dried flowers are beautiful—Their colors muted, Their edges curled like whispered secrets. Fresh flowers shout for attention, Bold in their blush, Tempting every glance with fleeting sweetness. The opportunists reach for them, Hands quick to scratch, hearts unsteady, Dazzled by perfume and flash. But the connoisseurs linger— they see the poetry in fading, The strength in stems that have endured timestamps, storms and rhythms of life. The wisdom written in petals turned bronze and gold. They know that true beauty does not need applause, That elegance grows with patience, That composure is found in subtle decay. While fresh blooms bow to the sun, Dried flowers hold the moon, Quietly sovereign, Speaking only to those who can listen, Revealing a taste refined, A love that does not chase, But understands. The connoisseur knows the art of love,  She doesn’t seek obedience.  What she seeks is valuation in a dignified bound....  She values what...

After losing you, I learned how silence can grow teeth— How it can bite through a childhood and leave no visible wound. After losing you, The house became a hallway of echoes, Your voice folded into absence, A door that never opened again. A mug of coffee half sipped,  An envelop of tender letters unzipped,  Codes of silent words undrafted,  Poems of regrets unwritten, A silhouette kept unwoven,  A heart left ingrafted,  An iceberg remains on top of the mountain intact - unaffected.  And, here you invaded in my life like an infection.... Lost in spiral of detachment and affection. After losing you, Love arrived like a promise and left like a lesson— Too quickly, too quietly, Taking parts of me I didn’t yet know how to name. And there were other losses No one writes elegies for— The body no longer mine in the way it once was, Trust slipping like water through unready hands, A girlhood interrupted mid-sentence. I grew into a control freak now.... Trying ...

A decade went lamenting for you, A decade spent ranting about you, A series of decade has gone by blaming you.  Now I look inwards,  After three century living all by myself- self partnered,  I have learnt that you are not to be accused of not me loving myself enough. It was because I didn’t accept myself and my surrounding could you make me feel the dearth of dignity...... Now the wings of serenity wraps around me. Because, this time I know nobody can make me feel that way anymore- vulnerable, helpless, alone despite having it all.  This time I know It's not my lack of possessions but lack of your integrity and lack of my dignity that we were binded together for so long.... Now I have chosen myself.... My dignity uproars at the city halls... It was never a war of belonging...  It is a war of dignity and still after  thousands of decades I will chose dignity over compromising.  Because, you have taught me well, that I can live without you even outgrew ...

 Why women day's  color a violet?  A symbol of violet flowers on rough terrains,  A symbol of violet on violent phase,  A symbol of chastity without proving any shit or laying evidence,  Who tells a man to prove his honor and worth?! Even women's beauty is also capitalized that captures you the most,  You only know to captivate whatever captures your attention,  You only know to devour in the name of extravagance and consumerism,  But, why not a different socialization ? Why not you learn something different?  There should be more feminist among men and less patriarchs in women, There shall be practice of acceptance and a preach of wisdom, that men and women have various roles to carry but none shall be given authority over another, None shall be advocating to be a domineer, Women are not subjects to rule,  Women are not objects to consume,  Women are not a aspect to use,  Women are not subjugated to any convent or club,...

 One soul mourning for two—the one who loved her, And the one whom she has loved. All of them ended with a tragic trajectory where ends meet nowhere. They might meet in a river where there were no banks, But only the sediments of memory of each getting wronged. I think lovers don't really miss each other completely. Perhaps, partly, they miss the establishment that gave them comfort, validation, and shared ownership of joy and belongingness. But do they ever belong to each other? Or, is it just for the sake of the establishment that they cling to each other? The establishment that labels neediness as love?! Perhaps! Well, who dissects love in such a critical manner? Only a fool who lost in the paradox of love tries to solve a puzzle she was never meant to solve anyways! ©® Farheen Akter Bhuian Nancy  Time Frame: 6.46 am, Tagar, MIST

 Brick by brick I have built myself, Picked from the abyss— dust still clinging to my ribs, History still trembling in my wrists. Inconveniently and incomprehensibly irreplaceable - I am. I am therefore, I think.  No architect curved this heart, No tender hand measured the fractures. I gathered ruins in silence, Stacked them against the grind, Called it a wrestle. In the wrestling of hearts I lost parts of me,  Parts of my life in insignificant matters. What mattered once doesn’t matter anymore. They said collapse is feminine— Soft, inevitable, vocal. But I learned the discourse of debris. I learned how to make a spine out of broken evenings. If you sit all alone in that prayer mat, You begin to swallow your own endurance. Salt becomes memory. Tears becomes testimony. Hunger for a connection becomes a private revolution or perhaps, A silent call for evolution.  Transforming the previous self that used to destruct every connection.  You are a havoc,  A galva...