“She Didn’t Need To Be Saved. She Needed To Be Found And Appreciated For Exactly Who She Was.”

অনন্ত প্রেম

তোমারেই যেন ভালোবাসিয়াছি

শত রূপে শত বার

জনমে জনমে, যুগে যুগে অনিবার।

চিরকাল ধরে মুগ্ধ হৃদয়

গাঁথিয়াছে গীতহার,

কত রূপ ধরে পরেছ গলায়,

নিয়েছ সে উপহার

জনমে জনমে যুগে যুগে অনিবার।

যত শুনি সেই অতীত কাহিনী,

প্রাচীন প্রেমের ব্যথা,

অতি পুরাতন বিরহমিলনকথা,

অসীম অতীতে চাহিতে চাহিতে

দেখা দেয় অবশেষে

কালের তিমিররজনী ভেদিয়া

তোমারি মুরতি এসে,

চিরস্মৃতিময়ী ধ্রুবতারকার বেশে।

আমরা দুজনে ভাসিয়া এসেছি

যুগল প্রেমের স্রোতে

অনাদিকালের হৃদয়-উৎস হতে।

আমরা দুজনে করিয়াছি খেলা

কোটি প্রেমিকের মাঝে

বিরহবিধুর নয়নসলিলে,

মিলনমধুর লাজে-

পুরাতন প্রেম নিত্যনুতন সাজে।

আজি সেই চিরদিবসের প্রেম

অবসান লভিয়াছে

রাশি রাশি হয়ে তোমার পায়ের কাছে।

নিখিলের সুখ, নিখিলের দুখ,

নিখিল প্রাণের প্রীতি,

একটি প্রেমের মাঝারে মিশেছে

সকল প্রেমের স্মৃতি-

সকল কালের সকল কবির গীতি

Unending Love

I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times...

In life after life, in age after age, forever.

My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs,

That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms,

In life after life, in age after age, forever.

Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, it's age old pain,

It's ancient tale of being apart or together.

As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge,

Clad in the light of a pole-star, piercing the darkness of time.

You become an image of what is remembered forever.

You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount.

At the heart of time, love of one for another.

We have played along side millions of lovers,

Shared in the same shy sweetness of meeting,

the distressful tears of farewell,

Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever.

Today it is heaped at your feet, it has found its end in you

The love of all man's days both past and forever:

Universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life.

The memories of all loves merging with this one love of ours -

And the songs of every poet past and forever.

Rabindranath Tagore, Unending Love অনন্ত প্রেম

Identity

I am a dissatisfied soul who is bound in the shackles of unspoken feelings. I am a traveler who travels alone and is involved to incite the glimmer lamp of life. I am the enlighten essence of poetry. I play the flute of intimacy of love. I like the fragrance of orange jasmine of the white garden. I am ready to die for the pink rose growing in the snow. I am sad for your cutted black hair. The memory of your decorated colorful skirt makes me desperate. I am burnt as it fades away. I am waiting for you.

অব্যক্ত অনুভূতির শৃঙ্খলে আবদ্ধ এক অতৃপ্ত আত্মা। মিটমিট করে জ্বলে যাওয়া জীবন প্রদীপকে উদ্দীপ্ত করতে নিয়োজিত একলা পথচলা এক পথিক যার মনোজগত সবসময় উদ্ভাসিত। আমি রোদেলা কাব্যের কাব্যরস। আমি প্রণয়ের বাজাই বাঁশি। শুভ্র কাননে কামিনী ফুলের সুবাস আমায় মুগ্ধ করে। আমি বরফে জন্মানো গোলাপী গোলাপের জন্য মরতে প্রস্তুত। আমি তোমার কেটে ফেলা কালো কেশের জন্য ব্যথিত। হরেক রঙে সাজানো তোমার স্কার্ট আজও আমায় স্মৃতিকাতর করে। আমি তার রঙ হারানোর বেদনায় দগ্ধ। আমি নির্ঘুম। আজ আমি তোমার জন্য অপেক্ষারত।

Meditations in an Emergency, Cameron Awkward-Rich

“It is well known that those in the grip of heavy enchantments can be wakened only by a lover’s touch. Those who seem dead, who are already returning to the earth, can be restored to life, quickened again by one who is warm. Then, it being night, and the twin stars of Castor and Pollux just visible in the sky, I spoke of that tragedy, of two brothers whose love we might find unnatural, so stricken in grief when one was killed that the other, begging for his life again, accepted instead that for half the year one might live, and for the rest of the year the other, but never the two together. So it is for us, who while on earth in these suits of lead sense the presence of one we love, not far away but too far to touch.”

— Jeanette Winterson, Sexing the Cherry

“I find the best way to love someone is not to change them, but instead, to help them reveal the greatest version of himself.”

— Steve Maraboli

Aphrodite of Bengal

হে দেবী, বিজয়া কল্যানি, মধুর আখিয়া

দিয়া চাইও, মরুভূমির সে ঠায়ের থেকে।

বঙ্গ জুরিয়া না, জনাকি উজ্জ্বল কীরণ

দিব আর্তির ঠালোয়ে। বিধাতা নয়নি,

বিজয়া কল্যানি, প্রসাদ এ লয়ো নিয়ে॥

— "বিজয়া" (২০২১)

“If a poem hasn’t ripped apart your soul; you haven’t experienced poetry.”

— Edgar Allan Poe

Still.

I miss you so much in this moment. My skin comes alive with chills. My eyes, with tears. My heart with a dull, familiar ache.

I wish you could hear me. I wish you could sense how much I need you. I wish you could see who I am. I wish you would come back to me again.

How could you just let me go And live on without a word or a thought?

How could you just walk away Without a wonder or a regret?

How am I supposed to forget you When your body brought me to life? Even though you almost extinguished the fire in my soul.

Your neck. Your back. Your arms. Your hands.

Your fingers.

Your chest. Your stomach. Your hips.

Your thighs. Your calves. Your feet. Your toes.

The heat between your legs.

Your hair. Your ears.

Your eyes. Those eyes.

Your lips. Your nose.

Your voice. Your breath.

Your kisses.

Your smile. Your laughter.

I miss all of you. I remember all of you. Every precious inch of you.

I remember the way you felt inside of me. I remember the way your body moved, Always with intention; Always in control. Steady. Strong.

I remember the weight of your silhouette And your hips between my legs While you leaned down to kiss me And I curled my fingers in your hair, Wrapped my thighs around your waist.

I let myself dissolve into your rhythm. I let you lose yourself inside of me.

I remember catching your groans in my throat, The play of your tongue.

I remember how it felt To inhale your breath. It was sweeter than any air. It was pure energy. It fed me.

I remember your whispers. Your questions. Your instructions. Your revelations. “Yes.”

I begged you “Please.” Always. “More.”

I called out to God. I moaned your praises.

You are etched into my mind.

You are traced into my soul.

You are bringing me to my knees. Without a word, without a glance, without a breath.

I’m shackled by a memory. A ghost.

Today my mom was singing Mirza Ghalib's most famous ghazal, "yeh na thi humari qismat" (This was not our destiny). I said her "Let me record " and she replied "I won't let you record. I know you'll post it on your Tumblr and your friends will laugh at my voice." 😆After a lot of persuasion she finally agreed. Please ignore my strange voice, I have cold.😅

ye na thi humaari qismat ke wisaal-e-yaar hota agar aur jeete rehte yahi intezaar hota.

It was not my destiny that there would be a union with my beloved. If I had lived further on, there would have been this same waiting.

ye kaha ki dosti hai ke bane hain dost naaseh koi chaarasaaz  hota, koi ghamgusaar hota

What kind of friendship is this, where the friends have now become advisors. If only there were some healer, if only there was some sympathizer.