Writer's own thoughts!

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 And, it will cost you partial eclipse as if your life energy has been partially withdrawn.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 

 Harmony of thoughts, words and deeds can make one a wholesome person,  If your actions doesn’t match with your words and your deeds are not aligned with your thoughts, Beware then, you'll have to face the consequences!  Alignment of holy trinity of actions, wisdom and emotions can bring the desired inner peace and reflect in the outer ward,  Because, whatever you keep inside anyhow comes out later!  Collectively, the influence and the imitation of the actions can result in a massive inundation,  Get into the matrix or break it by revolution,  Either you evolve in the process of evolution or  we need some sorts of correction,  Be ready for the circumstances,  Be ready for the acceptance, Accepting the change makers!  Do you know who are the change makers?! Do you recognize them?! They are closer to you bringing changes in themselves first then thinking always about the worldly welfares,  Hail to their wisdom and hard work,...

 The tormentors want love from me now. They want devotion.  Is love and devotion a joke to them?! Easily found and discarded?!  The tormentor wanted me to capture lifelong, To burn in his spell eternally.  The monster in him wanted to devour,  Every hour,  But, he forgot love doesn’t occur in confinement.  Where souls can't meet, lovers can't unite. Where souls can't understand each other's silence, love cannot blossom, bodies don't recognize.  The body rejects what the soul can't have.  The mind rejects what it doesn’t understand.  The heart rejects what it can't feel.  The lover departs when one feels constrained. You cannot expect someone to love you, After you have exploited them. Exploited the reasons,  The moments, The innocence.  You cannot have the best when you force it. Any form of maleficence is not worthy of the quiet innocence.  Not anymore.  Nevermore. They wants love after the damage they've done! ...

 Your love is a curse to me.  I was bewildered, misguided and misrepresented.  Your love is a curse to me.  I am still trying to break free from the spell.  Still, burning in the blaze.  Your love is a curse,  It knows to possess, not to release.  Your love is a curse,  It knows to control, not to surrender.  Your love is a curse,  It cursed my life with lifelong fears and abandonments.  Your love is a curse,  You are a cursed lover.  Your darkness shadowed my life.  Your love is a curse,  Like a potion you poisoned me.  Ruined all the good in me.  Your love is a curse,  There is no balm. No emblem of cure.  Your love is a curse,  Till death do I hate you from the last drop of my blood.  I hate you from the last breath of my lungs,  I hate you till the end of my life,  I hate your face, your name, your character.  I hate the time I have spent with you - the cursed...

 Who suffers, Adrian?!  Those who do everything deeply.  They love deeply,  They think deeply,  They care deeply.  So, they suffer.  They eternally suffer in the world of temporality. They suffer quietly, silently, utterly, immensely. They suffer.  But, people around them are unbothered.  Sometimes, they are too!  Unbounded by any situations,  They keep moving.  Moving destinations are their destiny. Moving and meeting new people, Then, storing memories of them.  In their memories they meet again, Sip coffee and have a conversation together. You know blue is the color of suffering,  White of purity, and,  Yellow of youthfulness.  All the three cannot collide. They dim each other and become black.  Dark hue black. They consume each other's light. And, at the end of the day, do you know who wins?! It's my buddy sufferings!  I have befriended him. He is so fond of me now that he never leaves me. My po...

 Is it a crime to show happiness?  After all the interruptions and disruptions?!  Is it a crime to show happiness?  After all the sufferings that you suffer?! Is it a crime to be with someone for whom your heart flutters?!  Is it a crime to love freely as birds do chirp and hold each others? Tell me, is it a crime to be oneself?! Or, was it a crime that once I loved you a lot?! More than any bounds,  More than the oceans,  More than the sky could hold the clouds,  More than any vessel could contain.  Tell me, was it a crime to be so free, fierce and blind in love?!  Your love has caused me death.  I have resurrected as a corpse now,  A dead shell.  Do I suffocate you?! Or, am I suffocating myself?! ©® Farheen Akter Bhuian Nancy  Timestamp: 11.57 am, Tagar