Writer's own thoughts!

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...

 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...