The path I choose is steep and wild,
It doesn't smile on the meek or mild.
With every stone, a silent test,
With every storm, I give my best.
It’s not a road of gold or grace,
But one where shadows show their face.
No easy cheers, no crowd that claps,
Just silent steps and fading maps.

I walk with wounds beneath my skin,
Each scar is a tale of where I’ve been.
And if you dare to walk with me,
Know that strength is born through agony.
The stars I chase are far, not free,
And pain walks close, persistently.

So those who join me must understand,
This fire burns more than the hand.
Your peace will bend & pride may fall,
Your soul may echo every call.
But if you’re brave, true & strong,
This path will shape where you belong.
So take my hand but know the cost,
For on this way, much must be lost.
The path I choose is sharp and high
And those who walk it, bleed to fly.

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Parental intent is seldom impure,
though the paths they choose may sometimes be.
What’s right in heart may
still go wrong in hand.

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If you endure & stand by me in my Lungi days without shame,
You earn the right & your place when I rise in my Blazer name.

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Instinct is a double-edged gift — it warns, but never softens the blow.
Some foresight feels like fortune — until you realize you saw it too soon.

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Told you the truth? Yes, I did.
No games, no lies, nothing hid.
Told the verity? My bad, I guess.
Next time I’ll clap for your mess.

Gave advice, thought you would care—
But you chose pride, so that's your share.
Gave exhortation? Wow, what a crime—
Should’ve watched you waste your time.

Two faces shown, now I’m the clown?
Please, go ahead—wear your fake crown.
Two faces unfurled, and now I see—
You wear the mask, not me.

Keep your stories, play your part,
But don’t mistake me for a soft heart.
Keep the drama, keep the lies,
I’ll be chill while your ego cries.

I don’t chase noise, I walk away—
While truth stays firm, come what may.

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From struggles to strength, I’ve overcome phases I never imagined I would. Now, I stand in this moment—fulfilled, grateful, thriving & enjoying the 'Blossoms of বসন্ত'।

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In the End,
Someone has to be the Wrong,
To make everything Right.

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দিন ফুরিয়ে রাত্রি নামে
ছবির ন্যায় কিছু গল্প জমে,
চারিদিকে বৃষ্টি-ভেজা ঘাস গুলো সব
জেগে ওঠে তা শুনবে বলে।
গল্প সে যে দীর্ঘদিনের, নদীর মাঝে একার ভিড়ের,
বিষন্নতার আবেগ নিয়ে তখন মগ্ন ছিলেম ছন্দে নীরের।
সময় যখন থমকে ছিল মানবতার ছলের ভয়ে,
ছেড়ে যায় যে প্রায় সবই, কেবল স্বল্প কিছু থেকে যায় রয়ে।
তবে শেষ অব্দি কাটলো ঘোর,
যেনো রাত্রি শেষে এলো ভোর।
এ বেলা কি হবে নতুন কিছু?
নাকি চিরাচরিতেরই আগমন ঘটবে পিছু পিছু!

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যখন অর্থ ই বিচারের মাপকাঠি
যেটি ব্যতীত শেষ জীবনে জুটবে না লাঠি,
যখন করিতে হবে মাথা নত ই
দাও যুক্তি বা ঠিক হও না যতোই।
যখন সত্তা শেষে গুমরে মরে
যখন নৌকো থামেনা নদীর চরে,
যখন দাঁড়িয়ে থাকো পথিক সেজে
পথের ধারে সঙের বেশে।
যখন আন্দোলিত চিত্ত তোমার
আকাঙ্ক্ষা পোষো কিছু পাওয়ার,
সেই ক্ষণেতেই পরখ তবে
জীবন যুদ্ধে কী কী পাবে!

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Gradually the air became so much thick,
That eventually made him sick.
It's neither the pollution nor the air pressure,
But an act of a demolisher.
To escape from this he ran away
And somewhere he found two parallel rivers.
One was dark like the raw coal,
The other one was like filled with silvers.
Out of curiosity he started to follow
To discover the estuary or
If there's any hollow!
Through the high muddy path
But ended up having a blood bath.
He was astonished and asked himself
What's happening here,
Where did the rivers go?
Someone suddenly averred,
Those were parts of you from long ago.
To skedaddle from the reality
You accidentally dived into your own entity.
Where you saw the essence of life,
Which aids us to survive
In this bloody hell
By plotting various situations,
Many circumstances to impel.

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