Writer's own thoughts!

 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...

 You know Adrian,  Why some people pushes away other people?!  They are afraid.  They are scared that the person in front of them might be too good, Too good for them.  That they might terribly, utterly, despicably fall in love and lose themselves again.  The person is showing pure intentions and gentleness, His gentle strokes and kind touches are reminding you of the tenderness - That you earnestly wanted.  You were craving such innocence.  But, then you retreat.  You pull away.  You detach.  Why?!  Because, you remember last time how hardly you fell in love. Sometimes, Adrian, you know you give chance to those whom you think you won't love.  That's why being with them is convenient.  And, see you can leave them too easily,  Because, from the very first place it was clear, You won't love them back,  They are below your standards.   So, you just casually have a fling with them.  But, again, th...

 I never wished you would change.  I never wished to become the reason your innocence would be traded off.  I never thought the spark in your eyes will be gone, your smile less broadened and arms less wide, after my departure.  Never wished you to shrink into someone ordinary just to fit into my scrutiny.  Never thought you would fall from the mountains into muds, smearing dust and looking for shelter in bushes, after I left.  You changed slowly...... Not through loud noises. Not in volcanic eruption but in a silent catastrophe....!  A thousand little funerals within you were happening when I was away! I had been seeking love in wrong place then, while you were quietly building yourself-  In isolation,  Grinding through rough days!  Today you are everything a gentleman could be,  And, I am proud of the man who is of stature, whom once I loved dearly!  You know Adrian, love is cruel sometimes, Because, it asks for sacrifice in d...

The last time I held your hands,  They were cold.  That tore me apart when I understood there was no belongingness anymore.  I acknowledge what I lost.  The access to your heart and soul.  Whether your body remained close or not doesn’t matter.  I know I lost that soft spot.  And, I also know what losing means.  I can never recover it though how accessible it might seem.  I lost the premium access to your heart.  The soft spot that used to worship me like a deity.  I stomped upon it and got myself slaughtered.  No more offerings made,  No more flowers. After losing the soft spot I carry a dark spot in my heart- ever darkening, ever growing -  And, like a blackhole- I absorb.  I absorb grief like a staple.  The grief of losing a pure soul.  The man of a character and composure.  In you, both dignity and vanity uproars.  And, here I soar in pain. Whimper in anguish for losing you.  ©® Farhe...

 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...