Writer's own thoughts!

 How will you teach me joy and light thinking, Adrian, when you know someone rejoices in sufferings?!  When you know you are here to suffer eternally! And, there is no escape from your miseries.  When you know there are no meaning, No significance,  No hope until we attach meaning and significance to it. There is no explanation until we justify it. We simply exist. To make existence simple we create meanings. We try to understand why do we suffer, Then, we attach reasons to it.  Otherwise, there is actually no reasons,  Again, no meanings.  You and I are just a continual of pattern, Of a destiny lived by our ancestors.  We are as primal as they were!  Their existence has shown us a cause, A path to walk on.  Their beliefs and rituals has covered up our lives, taught us to reason.  There is simply no hope.  We are here to fulfill our destiny prescribed by some other.  We exist hence we reason.  We justify our existenti...

 Stop!!!!  We are all dying in this madness. We are all dying for capitalizing by all we have and all that matters, Our hearts,  Our emotions, Our belongings and  Our close people.  Stop!!!!  We are all dying,  Our hearts stopped beating as we forgot to laugh together.  We lost the idea of having fun together when started to count every penny.  Stop!!!!  We are all dying because we lost touch with ourselves, we stopped enjoying each other's company.  Stop!!!!  Please, Stop! Have a break and pause.  Pause the cycle,  Reboot from where we began.  We were the child playing with mud.  The inner child in us is crying for playmates to smear mud. The inner child in us is crying to swim in the lake unbothered. Stop!!!!  We are all dying in this city craving for air to breath.  Stop!!!!  Have a break and pause.  We want to play with our friends and have dinner with our happy families.  Now, w...

 Irresponsibly you fall in love for experimenting the idea of love, to live it, to see how it feels.  Slowly, you get entrapped into it. Into the magical wand.  But, only time slipping through fingers like sands leaving its trace past the currents can say if it will survive the storm. Irresponsibly you fall into love, leak into it without knowing the outcome.  We don't predict future- a future that was meant to be, yet never forthcoming. A future that can't be in our hold and that we can't fold in our desired mold always keeps fleeting. Untouchable.  Undeniable.  Unrecognizable.  Undefeatable. We were never meant to last, not at least the fiction writers would portray- No clear conscience,  No clear boundaries,  No morals,  No dignity. Just two people weaving entire present and future only for it to become a bad memory. I gave you hours that could have built empires, You gave me games that still felt like understanding.  We both kne...

I am not looking for a fleeting flame, Not a dazzling light that only sparks at night and disappears at dawn. I am looking for something whose impact will last forever....  Like that of sun rays, Even at the coldest night it leaves its shadows behind- Reflected on the stars and moon aligned.  I don't want comforting surrenders that shouts for temporal attentions, The type of surrender that breeds your hunger.  That satiates you once but keeps you hungry forever.  That never truly satisfies you.  What isn’t yours can't make you happy, And, whatever is yours whether tiny will cling to your heart, remain in a sacred place, you will worship it as holy.  Whatever comes as partial form will divide you into partiality. And, it will cost you partial eclipse as if your life energy has been partially withdrawn.  Partiality begets more partial tendencies.  And, then, You are never whole. Always, depleted.  Fabricated. Rehearsed.  Manipulated. ...

  When humanity is dying then  asking for the cure of my heart is irrelevant.  How arrogant I can be to sit beside the ruins and whisper-  Tell me how to mend my heart?! How to cure the malice?! As if the beats of one heart matters - When the world itself bleeds, Coughs up blood. When the earth is dehydrated of kindness, When the sky chokes up and holds on unspoken grief, Then pours its tears on the low valleys to flood.  When generosity is buried under the debris of convenience,  Then, isn’t it too inconvenient to ask for my relief?! Open your eyes,  Open your heart,  Open your conscience,  Look around.... Veins of megacities run with blood of indifference and chaos. Hands that once held us now meticulously calculates how long shall it hold, how longer to fold and how sooner to leave.  Eyes no longer meet souls,  They measure.  They make up stories,  They stereotype.  They judge. And, you my dear Penelope,  You ...

I am my own judge, I am examining my standards, my limits, my bounds, my strength, my dreams, my surroundings, my patience.  With every interactions, with each occurrence,  With every incidents and daily events,  I click the check boxes what trigger me and what not, and how I react.  Which circumstances denote my strength, which shows weakness, I am my biggest judge, I judge my own show,  I see myself performing, How well I perform,  I clap and punish me for my performance.  What an eminence radiates through your determination.  Sometimes, I check how willful I am. They tell me I am stubbornly determined,  Adamant on purpose! So, I examine my stubbornness.  My rigidity that I have built after patience, After so many upheavals.  At times, the heart felt heavy, The lungs so heavy as if failed, I couldn’t breath, I used to hold my tears, Still, I struggle controlling my triggers and fears,  They tend to fall out from my eyes as if...

  Ordinary spreads quietly on the shore sideways,  Not like fire but rust settling on iron. Like dust building home on the web of spiders,  Idly sitting on bookshelves where old books remain untouched and unsettled. The unbothered pages of the classics remain forgotten. They live with cracks and fractions and fragments. Fragrance of the old invites those who live in the past timelines, Who adores old alleys in old towns where old books are piled. That reminds them of the fragrance of their old love, old souls, old memories, Old wine, old smoke in the eyes, velvety soft delights. Old stem of flower begs attention for rebirth, Rebirth through flame of desire that is ash now, Lit through the smoke of remains, The ashes of bones. Ordinary teaches us to remain placid. But, can a racehorse stand still? It orders the room to remain dim light, To lower its voice, to edit the sharper tone, To adjust the expressions on your face, To round off the edges that would admonish thousands...

 They said that when the henna on the skin gets darker after removal, and the color intensifies, The next lover will love you with unbearable intensity, With sheer determination that breeds persuading obsession and passion. The illicit gambling of hearts pounds for compelling possessions.  The hands want to possess what the heart cannot. The eyes want to stare at what sight does not allow. The lips want to touch the forbidden,  But, the mind reminds of chaos.  So, I spent hours on it,  Designing, weaving, creating. Every layers, every stroke of art as if speaks of my unblown desires. I have opened my palm like a love letter, A confession.  Yes, I love to see your face, but it reminds me of my past lover whom I did not spare.  A glimpse of yours would make my day, But, I let it slide.  Just as I let the stroke of line glide.  I let the paste dry into prophecy, It gets dark red, darker with night- just like my thoughts, just like my wildest ima...

Hands like pearls, used to stroke your hair.  Hands like pearls, used to adore your face. Hands like pearls, used to take care of you.  Hands like pearls, used to write your name in sands, Draw your face in the stars.  Hands like pearls, used to weave poems for you, Stitching her pain.  Hands like pearls, used to make your favourite delicacies, would chant your name.  Hands like pearls were only crafted for you, But, you handicapped her.  So, she was forced to leave your hands.  Your hands were made of steels,  They slitted her veins. So much blood shed.  Her hands of pearls were covered with blood so red.  Red in hatred.  ©® Farheen Akter Bhuian Nancy  Timestamp: 2.18 pm, Tea bar

The nectar knew what it was doing. It was conspiring intimacy between two unequals.  The unmatched saga of honey bee and the flower then begins. Don't tell me that the tulip bloomed in innocence- She didn’t know what her blossom invited. Rose petals do not unfold unaware  without the traces of hunger tucked beneath their fair laces. They embrace the braced thorns imbued with fragrance.  Fragrance that can make a drunkard more drunken.  Fresh bloomed flowers tilted their delicate stem toward the sun, But, waited for a warmer grip of heat,warmer than the scorching heat of sun rays. They were waiting for a trembling wing, A body that slowly hums with exclusive clarity and claims. The honey bee did not enter the valley of tulip roses as a villain.... No, He was summoned in fragrance, Invited by a naive sweetness that rehearsed its own unfolding,  Undoing its own doing. The magic that the fragrance hides,  The delicacy, the tenderness that the colorful petals ca...

 After you, I have learnt how to paint my hands with colors. Colors of self-love, confidence and admiration.  After you, I have learnt sunsets can also be beautiful just as sunrises,  They denote- Endings are new beginnings too!  After you, I know there are two forms of love that is so pure, one for universe and the other for the self. We distribute other love from the fullness of these two.  After you, I have known my worth, the meaning of life and found myself.  I had to lose you to find me.  After you, life has never been the same.  Each time I grew stronger.  Each time more bold and hopeful. I am living my life fullest.  After you, I have become the full moon- unbothered and undivided.  ©®Farheen Akter Bhuian Nancy  Timestamp: 9.06 am, Officer's mess

 Dear NZ,  You know, I have lost my first love in the havoc of inauspicious time.  Still, I regret the misfortune.  That unfortunate period of my life.  Now, that I have turned around the wheel of time and I look back, I think of what could have been and what could be avoided.  Now, that I cannot retreat, I give people advice.  I mend every broken heart and tell them,  Do not lose your first love.  It's ethereal and unreal,   Unparalleled and uncompelled.  You won't find another love so great, So pure! Cherish your first love like It's forever! ©® Farheen Akter Bhuian Nancy  Timestamp: 4.52 pm, Tagar

 I am an identity, I am a character,  An image and imagery, A symbol, A role,  A sage, A sire. I am not simply an anomaly of the person,  Or, the emblem that you see is not what it seems. I am not simply a person whom you can sway with sweet words. I read people.  I observe them beyond their words. I listen to their stories, Their deepest desires,  Their wounds and hurts,  I understand their trauma,  Relate to their losses,  I study the bereaved. I heal them. That's why people think they are attached to me whereas I keep my distance.  I detach from all longings,  And, attachments.  Because, attachment might open new doors of depth but it may also create a whirlpool of devastations.  Not for you, but for me.  My visions will get blurred or heightened.  Who knows!  But, I have always suffered in the surge of attachments.  Or, am I glorifying my inability?!  Who knows!  I don't know either. ...

 Why does your heart tremble for fleeting moments?!  For positional people, situations and things?!  Even the waves of oceans don't remember when they kissed the shores, Even the sky keeps changing it's color, Even the bird folks change their nests,  Their feathers. Even the snakes sheds its own skin in seasons.  Then, why do you weep for changes?! Whatever is meant to stay will stay,  And, whatever is meant to change will go away.  Wither away like weathers, Change like fallen seasons. The cloud that is pouring heavy will soon be light. The sky that holds them soon will clear its site- To hold stars and satellites, To hold constellations beneath. The old is always replaced by the new. Don't weep for the old.  They were never meant to stay the same, It was their fate that they followed.  Even you are not the same anymore.  Every shedding shredded your layers and built anew.  Soon you won't be the same,  Every color that honored...

 The plant that I have sown in my heart is dead,  All the flowers are dead.  They are dead because I gave another place, The displaced wooden rose interfered into their weary hut. They are all dead.  The corpses scream for mortgage.  They scream for an autopsy.  They want me to know their cause of death.  All the flowers are dead now,  So, is the plant sown in my heart. It is dead and dehydrated in absence of unconditional love that's faithful and desire that would burn the old views. In the missing report, it was written- Emptiness replaced excitement!  Aloofness replaced horror of communications! ©® Farheen Akter Bhuian Nancy  Timestamp: 1.30 pm, Tagar