Writer's own thoughts!

 Now you know,  The permanent damage that you've done. They call it survival,  But, I named it silence.  A disease called- incapable of love.  No physician can give prescription on it, No laboratory can discover the reason beneath it. The diagnosis report arrives late after the predator leaves the marks,  Only after the heart forgets the weather of warmth.  Not because love doesn’t knock on the door,  But, because the door is permanently locked.  All callings go in vain,  Doorbell keeps ringing, but no one answers.  Until the hands of lover bleeds.  But, is there anyone who is ready to wait and bleed?!  The symptoms are quite subtle: Eyes that avoids affection and mistakes softness as danger,  Hands that retract from gentleness as if infatuation is a burning fire. Pulses intensifies only at the footsteps of departure.  Then?! A quiet grief spirals back from head to toe,  A relief follows.  I dodged a bu...

The cockroach did not know that evolution never taught humans to befriend it, And, It didn’t learn to hide. It approached towards me not with an intention of hurting me,  But it approached swiftly not with venom but six hesitant feet, and two trembling antennae, That shook its head with an unspeakable greeting.  Perhaps, it thought proximity was the beginning of a new friendship.  It came near to me, close to my ears as if it wanted to whisper some tea, and spill some secrets. But, I turned away in disgust. It ran into my feet, with its polished shell and  offered me a glittery smile. The smile of a being who has never been loved, Yet arrives with a fading hope that someday someone will love and accept it as it is!! I did not ask, why it was here! Neither did I bother to wonder- if my fear was valid to kill a being, a living creature?! And, me as a human,  I only remembered parts of everything I ever inherited-  The fear, The disgust,  The pollution, A...

There was an ocean within me once, It was deep,blue,wide. In that deep blue ocean- Tides shone so bright, Faith precipitated as salt- it tasted sweet until all flavours faded away, Beneath the ebbs and tides- a love formed on the aisles!  Between a mermaid and a whale! As if fated union. A canon of fire blew right in front of the invisible castles of doubts, as if something lingering is yet to happen, Just then the missiles of hope were thrown away in despair and desperation! As if a parade of mockery will show on the day!  A love formed so immeasurable that was one of a kind! Then an imposter came in a disguise of a storm in my calm ocean to stir waves! Without any noise, without any declaration of warfare, He attacked my sails. In the deepest blue of the sea, He devoured every ounce of love alive in me. Just like a giant blue whale, he ended me. In his big stomach lie my vows, My vanity- my erroneous sanctity! The big appetite of his left me scouring for any insanity! In the...

In knowing you, little by little, I cannot deny,  That the flaw was not in your nature but in the culture in making of you- that shaped you, how you act, how you behave.  It couldn’t be unseen. Only after all this accumulating time, did I understand the depth of the cultural decay horrendously affecting you.  A spectacle so repellent,  So, unattractive that stirs only revulsion.  Problem upon problem,  One issue after another,  As if an endless trope of shortcomings- a legacy of neglect, a culture that repulses the beloved.  And, since you have come across my path,  Standing on the crossroads, I can feel a fierce disdain within me for you.  Contempt for the cultural atmosphere that made you a tyrant- a shallow scallop.   I strongly detest it with all my might,  I feel the abhorrence not only for you but the culture that shaped you.  ©® Farheen Akter Bhuian Timespan: 15th july, 2026, Mirpur Cantonment. 

I wish I was not this ambitious for every direction I have gone demanded me of a bereavement for everything I leave behind.  In teaching my arms how not to tremble while carrying them.  In hiding my tears,  My voice not shaking while saying goodbyes.  And, my soul not escaping the ribcage while tightly grabbing them. I don't want to let go of them - those who are my people.  Who have ever known my grief,  Who have understood me beyond my cold  exterior, tears pushed back behind my smiley face. Those who have read between the lines.  I don't want to lose them at all.  I wish I had wanted less. Perhaps, then the people I love would have remained within arm's length, Their laughter echo in my ears, Their faces not blurred for poor net connection,  And, timezones not differed that would make seeing them difficult.  I wish I could always touch them, feel their presence.  Cuddle them tightly and keep them in front of my eyes.  B...

  There is a strange grief reserved for those of us who have lived our lives learning the arithmetic of departure - who have folded home and bits of themselves in the large suitcases, carried entire neighbourhood, relations behind the ribcage of their hearts. They leave. They move on. They had to leave.  They no longer hope or believe in permanence. Because, each time they saw home within something they had to lose it. Lose it in the cruelty of situations. Still, they carry a part of them everywhere they go. They keep furnishing the empty rooms with the tenderness of belongingness and ownership - no matter how temporary it is. Each time we leave, people ask us about the thrill of new beginnings, the excitement of exploring new streets, building new homes- within people and spaces in a brand new city. They ask me how do we feel who are just messengers of love and devotion, of sincerity, who keep moving one city to another- ever migrating, ever moving begun from childhood and la...

May Almighty, in his immeasurable capacity and wisdom with his trembling mercy never weave my fate with the melancholic souls those who ever found peace in my ruins, happiness in my helplessness and who took my fractures for pleasures, humbleness as weakness and who lingered at the altar of my griefs and named their fascination and need for my dependence as devotion. May those who adored me most when my voice found no place, my words vague, my tongue wrapped with uncertainty, when my boundaries dissolved like salt in the ocean, never reach me when I become an island.  When my spirit fitted into the molds not meant to hold the vast spirit of mine, when I craved the crumbs of affection, may they stay far away from my belongings and I may stay out of their bounds, out of their reach, may their malicious hands never touch me again. Before that, may their filthy hands cut open and get drained in the guttery drainage.  As there are those people the world is filled with who do not ch...

Some people soften remembering their forsaken ones. Their voice loses its sharpness,  Their anger flies quietly like old letters shattered beneath the bedding.  A familiar song from distance and then they remember,  The walls they have built with pride and ego slowly begins to tremble in the flickers of regrets. They revisit memories they once buried with stubborn mind. The unfinished chapter they wanted to close remains unending.  The eyes they avoided becomes a testimony of their ruins.  The love they call weakness is simply too heavy to carry- burdened by regrets and grievances of an irreplaceable love.  Some people become kinder with age not because life taught them mercy, but because regrets did.  Because, somewhere in between the upheavals,  Someone waited for them sincerely and they abandoned the devotion for their ego, pride, hustle and immaturity or for the illusion that another person will love them with the same intensity.  And, gu...

There is no quick fix for a person that has engraved a name so deeply in her heart. People speak of moving on, healing, covering up the wounds, finding replacements, joy in quick fixes as if the heart was a cracked screen to be fixed within an hour, As if love were a habit that we can outgrow and let go with discipline.  So, I tried.  I tried all routines, all schemes, all heavy workloads to distract myself from loving you, From remembering you but I miserably failed. I come back to the turning point and it's always you.  God knows how I tried to forget you, But, strongly you return back in my consciousness.  I tried to hold the hands of the strangers,  I tried to feel their gentle strokes, tenderness of the touch but I felt nothing - they were empty.  I tried to look deep into their eyes but felt nothing- they were emptied souls.  Even there, I tried to search you in them, in their gaze, in their smiles, their gentle strokes.  Nothing was there!...

The life that I have curved was not a straight line. Yet, I refuse to bend in the mere delights....!  I deny to walk in the shadows that reigns the darkness.....!  The life that I have carved.... was never meant to be a straight line, It bled through midways in broken alleys, Through unfinished prayers,  Through storms that wore familiar faces.  Even in my breakdown I chose familiarity.  Even in my deathbed I chose humility.  Even in my darkest night I chose kindness and understanding, for those who shattered me unarmed into pieces.  Yet, I willfully oppose to kneel before the temporary delights that has no insights,  Tempting initiations that tend to seduce the weary soul, with every lifting sanctions they orbit around the same axis--- always revolving around -- meaninglessly, without any call.  I denied the comfort to sit with the shadows lurking beneath my soul, that cherishes the darkness within me- I revolt.  I revolt. Against, the ...

 He arrived like a spring rain on a drought-stricken day,  Infused with stale breath. The cause of my inner death and revival after ruins and chaotic devastations, The hope I became. I thought love had to be like theology. Complete faith that would have a final destination. I thought I was learning a new language— But, soon it became a language of silent bruises and wounds of a woman shrinking into repressed shadows acceptable under his pride. I walked on his shown path, I stomped upon those rocky trails, My legs bled with unseen bruises and scratches. They could not walk long. I was thirsty. Thirsty and hungry for love, But emotional hunger grew more and more for his tactics, Became a victim and survivor of his emotional games.  I was smitten, not merely with his face, But, his rescuer personality, I thought he would save me from drowning. I was drowning heedlessly. But, because of him, I drowned more  until I completely  submerged in the pitfalls. Oh, how care...

 There is a wave of sadness in my eyes. Deep-profound- unsettling! There is a wave of sadness in my eyes that I cannot hide. A stormy delight- That forgot the shore,  And, the old uproar, Quietly forming beneath my chest to explode in ache. My heart is drowned in the unspoken words that I never said before. People call it silence,  But, I call it resilience.  Because, silence has never been this loud that would awake them. Everybody in the town knows my secret. They can see the silent pain that I bear in my eyes, Through my glances they can rejoice the suffering I try to hide from them. Everybody can see through me- my losses.  It walks past me like a shadow in the crowded rooms, A lonely one hiding behind the broader smile. I carry a whole ocean and continent in my chest,  As if they were meant to be diversified.  Solidified memories swim in the ocean with salted taste, Bitter yet necessary to remember not to get attached- To the same pain again....

  It doesn't matter whether people look into my eyes and realize, There's a profound sadness. A grief so deep, so dark—that none can decipher. It doesn't matter at all. Because, no matter how much they understand me, My reasons: Nobody is going to love me for my sufferings.  It's always me before all of them. And people tend to take advantage of it.  A wounded bird with broken wings is bleeding. Yet, there will be some people who will play with her feathers. So, it doesn't matter whether they can see the sadness in my eyes. People won't love me for who I am; instead, they will look at what I have and what I can offer.   ©® Farheen Akter Bhuian Nancy  Timeframe: 12.41 pm, Sc & Hum 

 You know, there was a lady locked in the castle  crying so loud that every neighbour used to wake up.  The walls learned her sorrow better than the passengers did,  Candles melted with heavy hearts listening to her regretful confessions as if conscience burning. Even the moon paused beside her window,  Curtains half covered like the crescent moon, Too wane to intervene. She talks back to the moon, Why everyone is so half-hearted?  Just like you?! The moon whispered, 'Whatever'!  She kept weeping. Loud. No one sees her soulful cries. Her screams kept the town awake. The midnight felt heavier.  Rumours spread in the town that she was cursed. A widow who always wear black.  That grief has built a castle in her chest.  The castle of loss and tragic ends.  Her each heartbeat was an attempt to be rescued from the pain she was chained with.  The heavy stone sat like a vest on her chest.  Some nights she screamed at God,  So...

I know today you will be intrigued by my allure, My intensity wrapped in mystery. But, the very next day,  You are going to hate me.... Hate me for the mist that swayed you,  Blurred your vision.  One last thing I would like is the dismissal of respect that you have for me.  So I remain plain, I stay placid... Flat like a lowland, So that your emotions don't flood my ground.  And, you don't get to climb the heights that were not meant for you.  Useless labor!  See, Adrian,  I have saved both your and my time- That we value.  The worth of love is written with high stakes, If only you intend to stay genuine.  The unfulfilled dream of mine keeps me awake and fuels me to think.  Think deeper than the ocean blue. My anguishes in blue takes another form of hue, If only you could understand the cue.  See Adrian, I don't like explorations, But, I know without moving to a new destination, I won't be able to find you.  ©® Farheen Ak...

I know Adrian, that you may love me abounds,  More than oceans, more than the Atlanta and  still not chose me.  Because, deep inside you know what I trigger in you. I shatter all your ego, you had to perform through your altar egos.  The multiple masks that you wear were defensive.  I understand.  I understand your stances and so I retreated.  I retrieved myself into my own trajectory, Locked myself in the self-imposed cage.  Because, deep inside I also know that, I am too much.  Too much to love,  Too much to handle.  Your depth is hollow and the water runs there is shallow.  You cannot hold me the way I am, I had to cut my wings to fit in your cage.  And, you had to become a tyrant to cut down my growing feathers.  The transition from a loving admirer to a tormentor is absolutely crazy.  In the frenzy of passion, we lost what we have built.  The sandy castle of love at last broke.  So, did your ego....

 The forsaken flowers that I leave behind,  Find my traces over there.  On the gentle trail alongside the cemented road, You will find them.  A white rose fallen as if forsaken.  I left it intentionally for you.  So, that you can find my smell from there. Pick the cues.  But, the stained petals of the flowers tell a different story.  They say, you won't understand decay.  You won't learn the language of love in ruins and ruminations.  You want to suppress the love you had for wrong people and so you have stopped loving the right ones.  The stain in the dead flower remarks,  What you leave behind doesn’t leave you.  They find you back to back where you've left it.  The tragedy of the fallen flower is, it is forsaken and collected for eye buds  to enjoy the decay.  The decay of greatness, color and mighty life.  The decay of a lively soul. ©® Farheen Akter Bhuian Nancy  Timeframe: 11.26 am, Tagar...