Writer's own thoughts!

When do one outgrow any situation?  Well, when two people no longer understand each other's language. But, once they used to speak the same codewords, now the pattern changes with the situations,  When role is shifted- the dialect and the tone gets authoritarian,  Fascist of a kind,  Suffocated!   Till death do apart us becomes a myth when real death occurs - death of the soul that once used to love inhibitedly,  Unnecessarily extraorbitant. The rules are never formed to be broken, The orbits too do not change their pathways,  Nor does the satellites stops their fixed performance.  It was only you who shifted his fluid identity with translucent primal urges.  ©® Farheen Akter Bhuian Nancy  Time Frame: 11.1 am, 14.02.26

  I am not a monument. My identity is not fixed nor can it be traded, Not marble-veined certainty ingrained in castles, Not star-lit venomous ceiling but standing upright against inherited light, Not the single spine of a history that names itself universal but relational, Within me history dissolves and uprisings rise. I am undergrowth, I am the root, not the terrace, I am the underground root that refuses geometry, Threading sideways through damp soil, Borrowing breath from leaves I did not grow, feeding on what feeds on me. But, somehow outgrew those who fed on me. They told me the body is a border— Skin a nation, Desire as discipline, Gender as a corridor with two doors and a guard at each end who needs an attorney to speak for themselves, But my body is a crossroad, a trigonometry, a memoir. It spills past instruction. It learns new grammar in hindsight, It learns a new language in solitude, It speaks a new dialect in turbulent times when resilience becomes armor, It writes a ...

Even the colossal is emptied with the reign of heavy time, But, once it has lent bribe in her prime to silence the voice of lambs perished in the peril of pariah,  Of evil storms—unhinged in the chaos, unheard of in the outskirts,  Survives the drowning at the cost of bulky memories filled with blisters of hurt and outgrowing. Decay or slow rupture? Erasure of ego with the advent of rage, of savage time. Softening of the voice and trembling of the threatened throat  that once roared epic pilgrimage, You don't need to pick every cue from the colossal; It is deemed to be soiled into dust and ashes... Until then, you see the fray, The cost of being abruptly massive and subtly lessened. Colossal in rage and wrath, now wishes to be cuddled!  If not, then at least remembered, That once wanted to dismember every amber, Now, intend to stitch woolcraft from scratch and draw sketches -  Of a veneer moth flamed until it turned into livestock and a funneled vessel,  A ...

 We frame vulnerability as love,  And, then romanticize it with labels and colors, We become more vulnerable day by day in the process of love,  Remaining unaware that love is immunized in itself from the weakness of the beloved, Just like a lamb quieten in love,  Do you call it peace or abandonment of self in loving another?!  I'll call it 'Loss of a limb' while building the other! Reason for another vulnerability?!  Your beloved make you fragile and vulnerable, Yet, sometimes it is beautiful.  Beautiful until you feel trapped and helpless,  Until you lose yourself in loving another! ©® Farheen Akter Bhuian  Time Frame: 6.48 pm, Tagar, MIST

  They do not know my name, yet they speak it inwardly as if repetition could convert exposure into permission. As if watching long enough—scrolling, lingering, memorizing the tilt of a smile rendered pixel by pixel—could justify digital stalking dressed up as affection, A devotion that mistakes access for intimacy and observation for reciprocity. In this architecture of screens, digital obsession grows quietly, not with the violence of intrusion but with the persistence of attention. The kind that never knocks yet feels entitled to entry, The kind that believes every posted fragment is an invitation rather than a remainder, Left deliberately incomplete. Here, online entitlement does not announce itself as a threat; It arrives politely, disguised as concern, admiration, curiosity— Why did you disappear? Why did you not post today? Why did you not respond— Questions that assume my availability as a public utility, My silence as a breach of contract. What they consume is not me, ...

  I do not vanish from the world;  I learn instead the older art of appearing partially. The way dusk offers light without confession, The way water reflects a face yet refuses to keep it. I allow the morning to speak through a cup warming my palms, Through a window rehearsing the sky, But I withhold the coordinates of my breath, Because some selves, once rendered in full resolution, Are never returned to their original owners. The eye of the machine asks for clarity, symmetry, and obedience— It wants my face as data, my hours as pattern,  My silence as consent— So I answer with angles, with cropped horizons,  With hands that hold language instead of evidence, With shadows trained to mean presence without surrender. What they call sharing, I rename selection; What they call access, I dilute into fragments. Enough warmth to remain legible, Never enough exposure to be consumed and overtly visible. My life continues to pulse online, yes, but behind a membrane woven of c...

When the dawn shifts to dusk and everything is quiet on the frontier, Ask yourself if it is necessary to burn like the sunlight in the misty morning. In the dew—you get wet without any signs of overpowering  heavy rain, Without any reason. Ask yourself if you need to show each and every parts of yourself to the world that doesn't care, That doesn't care about your well-being, Your life, visions and contributions, Or, your emotions. All the social goods that you do for people while you are simply breathing, Your simple existence had made so many differences, But, people do not care, The world doesn't care how much it took from you, Your smile, Your passion,  Your strength, your happiness. Ask yourself when you don't feel the urge to connect or showcase anything to the world, Would you live or act the same? How many people are you connecting with, actually by exposing yourself? People only admires the exterior, They don't see the grind nor the loneliness, People only ...

Once a blonde girl sang song by the seashore, Now, she writes dark lyrics for the gone people, Once she was into white and black spectrum, She wore royal navy blue. Now she wears colors of hue. Those were the color of hurdles that were put on her, She was chained to her death in the death-chamber, Amber like her cheeks were fainted pale in the cruelty of cold winter. She stays between the greys now, declining all the binaries. Nothing is too bad; nothing is too good. But can love be relative? Or, is it eternal? The wounds are eternal for sure. But, what about the subconscious  memories that lie beneath the surface  like an undercurrent in the deep blue sea?! She once wore blue, Now she herself became a tragic deep sea. An ocean of blue grief passes in her body like never ending currents, She does not know where the shore is. She keeps surfing. Surfing in the deep blue ocean of grief. Grief does not knock. It arranges itself beneath the floorboards of breath. Folded carefully, ...

  The handpicked flower doesn’t know it has died.... it still leans into the warmth of a borrowed palm, still believes the sky is close, that thirst is only a pause before rain. Its fragrance keeps speaking, long after the stem has forgotten its roots, long after the soil has closed its mouth and refuses to answer. Petals rehearse memory, not loss.... they soften, they bruise, they fall without ever naming the violence that called it love. If death is distance, then the flower is innocent: it does not measure absence, It does not recognize abuse, it does not accuse the hand. It only fades, thinking this quiet allure is rest. Thinking this dusky mist is blessed. ©® Farheen Akter Bhuian Nancy  Time Frame: 8 am, Morning, Tea, Officer's mess

 You don't pluck flowers that you like, You let them bloom, shine and thrive  under the sunlight. But, one day, you thought of them to preserve, Since that day began their decay and destruction. The bloomed flowers in your vase aren't the blossomed ones, They are the cursed flowers whose doom was written by you, The soon to be forgotten ones. But, you refused their dismissal, So, you pluck them at their peak with buds, Thinking they would die anyways sooner or later. But, what you did was inhibiting their natural growth, You dimmed their potential-  Their renewal. A flower nipped in the bud could not grow because of you, Oh, so aweful! The pricking soul flustered with possession.  Now, the petals fall off- one by one, And, with each fall - It gives a reminder, Reminds of decay- Of great souls,  Of spontaneous presence, Of pleasure of being seen, But, what's visible might not always be felt and understood!  Reminds the omnipotent essence of beauty- That just...

  My lips ache as if they want to be bitten  and smitten in your love and admiration. My hips swirl in ache as if they want to twirl  around you, dance in motion. My heart is in ache as if it doesn't know where   it belongs, to whom, My eyes are in pain, they are numb and sore. They say your eyes are beautiful like droplets of dews, Like diamonds in the sky. But, only a few knows how much tears it shed, Shed like an ocean. I have cried in pain like a destitute losing all her belongings, I have cried in pain like a beggar begging for an alms of love and warmth. I have cried like a Jew, a refugee Muslim for a bit of shelter in a foreign land, I have cried like a blind person for a bit of compassion and an ounce of aid. I have cried and whimpered in pain like an impaired person for quick recovery, I have cried like an infant hungry for love and needing to cling to somebody. I have cried an ocean for my lost ones whom I loved dearly, I have cried in agony, realizing...

 Oh, I regret from the bones of my ribs  that I lost a gentle love from a gentle man  living overseas far away. In another continent...  In a distant land,  My love has flown distantly so far away! I lost him in the wake of time,  I lost him due to my negligence,  I lost him for unforeseen reasons,  I lost him because I had to survive...!  Do you understand  That, I am both in charge and not in charge?! Do you recognize the cruelty of fate?! I lost a gentleman in the ungentle period of my life,  Now when everything is in order without chaos,  When time is alright,  I can't and couldn’t find another  gentle love from a gentleman like you,  Oh, my damn regrets! So awful I am in love,  Fate couldn’t replace what it took away. Damn, regrets!  A gentleman is rarely found,  Rarely born and raised,  A gentleman like you is rarely available,  Oh, how could fate betray!  ©® Farheen Akter Bhui...

 Hey, Cinderella,  If you are feeling lonely and succumbed by numbness,  It's your own battle,  You'll need to fight alone.  If you are weary and in despair,  Hopeless in love, life and joy,  It's your own battle to fight alone.  People will stay in your most illuminating era, When you shine bright and split lights,  But, only a handful will stay with you in your darkest time.  Hence, you shine bright for those who sit alone sad in the dark night.  You are their monsoon in the heavy rain, A brave knight, Savior to save them from the succumbing dark night, You become their illuminated lighthouse in the darkness,  You know how it feels,  You recognize their dark shadow side and stay until there is light.....  All night!  Till there is hope at the end of the tunnel,  Till there is a sprinkle of light, Till all night owls fly away,  Till all the bats turn their wings away,  Till all the growling dogs s...

 Who says love is blind?! Love is a test, A test if endured you continue loving  Otherwise, that same love converts into hatred and indifference. Who says love is all consuming?! Sometimes, it devours and transforms. Love is indeed, transformative. If you evolve in love then you succeed  in being a complete human being,  If you remain unevolved you stay revolving- Around materialistic ideals,  And, superficial idealisms,  You will stay incomplete if love doesn’t teach you to adjust and transform your bond into a shared beauty. Love is a surgical process of your soul- A metamorphosis.  You need to cut your soul open to another for you to evolve and heal, Cut open the wounds you hide,  Be vulnerable and spill aches that lie beneath- You can't be rigid and flaky  If you want to be loved,  You can't be closed off,  If you want some one to let in... But, fear drives love away, Because, you know what a weak insecure  person can do to...

 I wish I could see one glimpse of yours. Once again, I would see you from a distance. Not lay a finger on you, nor breath close to you, Nor would I touch your hands, cross my fingers with you, Entangle you with me, Because, I know distance is the best gift for you that I can present, A curse to me and a blessing to you is this thousand crores of distance, I wish I could keep you, As you are locked in the chambers of my heart, I wish..................... .....................................................! You are a distant comet to me, A dusty rusty mist that I cannot catch or see, You are so far away. Do I always chase the unavailable and the unattainable? Do I idealize love? Exaggerate? You are now an illusion to me,  but once you were my reality that was shattered with the cruelty of fate, Our fatalistic lives, I wish I could revert back to the golden times and hold you tight. Kiss you harder, Keep your moon face resting in the  palms of my hands. I wish you were in...

 Champions don't sway under any emotional burdens. I don't want to explore anything novel anymore, I want to cuddle the familiar, Smell the fragrance of the familiarity, That old dewy smell, Adore the innocence in the smile, In the morning sunshine. I don't want to unveil any hidden curtains, My soul is tired of exploring the unknown, I want my known world to return! The world I was introduced to! The comforting zone,  The ease of the habituated comfort  outweighs the thrill of the new, Anything new means risk, My soul can't take anymore risks, I don't want to run away, I wanna stay, Stay in your arms, Hold you tight, That familiarity haunts me,  Gives me nightmares, I don't want to lose you, But, each time I lose you in the cruelty of time! I am a champion in worldly affairs but a loser in love! A protagonist in daily life,  But a jew bereaving my heaven and safe haven_ my lost lands, I know nobody will love me like you did, I know I lost it forever and my grie...

 Men's and Women's worlds are different, And, it will remain different. Yet, men and women combine their journey  to integrate something more beautiful, Either converge and build something unique, Or, infuse more difference and indifference. Men are from Mars, The warriors who are always engaged in war zones, Survival and responsibilities,  With other brothers fighting for life and for good, Women are from Venus, Their perspectives are different than their divine counterparts, Women have a larger than life emotional inner world, Where they are content with few people in their lives, They take pride in— Quality over quantity.  They count on blessings over benefits. Their inner circle is rich in bonding and metaphors. Not superficial, not profit-based,  Their identity is emulsified and solidified by  the deep surface they dive into, Whereas men thrive outwardly, Their outer world is rich with the combination  of deep bonds and superficial connections, Th...

I made you the man you are today, You depleted the woman I was.  And, yes, if you say you made me  the woman I am,  You are correct!  You've filled me with inner love that I lost  loving another with my entire existence, my whole life!  See, depletion is sometimes beautiful but not eternally.  In depletion do we find ourselves and restore the broken pieces.  Find what was lost.  In depletion, we start seeking from ourselves what we cannot find from others. Depletion is another form of completion.  Just another phase of the coin,  One day, I'll be complete after the period of depletion.  I know the end is near. ©® Farheen Akter Bhuian Nancy  Time Frame: 9.10 am, Tagar, MIST

 In another timeline,  In another realm, You were in love while I was lying in deathbed,  Playing hide and seek with the dead and ruins. In another timeline,  In another occasion,  Our roads never crossed together,  We never saw each other's smiling face.  Nor did we bother to collide in.  In another timeline,  You were sulking your face deep into another's chest while I was running.... Running from another's suffocating arms, Only to remain lonely. In another timeline,  In another phase of life, You are chasing something else,  I am looking for stability... In another lifetime, perhaps,  We will lock our hands, fill the space  with each other's fingers and cross paths again, Maybe, that day you will kiss me longer  and give me a deep neck scar.  Perhaps, in that parallel world,  Without any doubts or confusion- I will stay. I will stay with you, No distractions would then sway! Perhaps, then, we will be ins...