Endless loop

What if, I am you, I am everything and everyone, and time or place and nothing exists. 

It sounds crazy, but I was stoned, and I made a detailed thesis on my head, which I won’t be able to pen it down as wisely as I thought about it, when I was stoned. 

But anyway, What if, everything is me. And everything is an endless loop? 

What if the next person in front of me looks exactly like me, but I see it differently because I was once bored and wanted to look different, like Maybe say I wanted to smoke cigarettes, so one version of me in some point of time invented cigarettes, what if the ideas we have are basically the loop of the memory, what if there are war because at some points I wanted to get rid of me, and wanted to shrink it down to only one me, the prime one, who created the loop, and he/she must die or fix the loop. What if at the end of the day, there is something, which will stop this endless loop, a machine or something, and some me will expload it, to create back big bang. And it will happen all over again?

I think I have gone mad.. 



It was raining in his top floor balcony, in the darkness, despite of roof and walls, it was raining. And I was soaking wet. 

And he was constantly saying, “oh! What are you gonna do now? You have to remove your clothes! You have to get naked!”

And I was worried, that I was getting late for home. At least that’s what I wanted to think I was worried about. 

I wanted to get naked, I wanted to stay there on his balcony, in the dark, naked, my feet out of his balcony windows, touching the flame tree. And getting more wet. 

But I had to return home, In a room, where there are three doors in three walls, and a window in the fourth. In a home where to get naked I have to close doors, windows, blocking the whole outside. Where to remove clothes, I have to wear concrete.

“No, I won’t get naked here” I said.

And after few minutes, I left. 

It rained there only, all the streets were dry ten minutes away from his place, it didn’t rain anywhere else. I returned home wet, traveling through all the dry places. 

Power of power Glasses

I was always fascinated about people with glasses

I mean not like me glasses, wearing it just to protect my eyes from allergic reactions, no.

Like people who needs glasses to see clearly.

My mum has it, my dad, Uncle, my best friends, my childhood friends, my Ex boyfriend, my teachers, my enemies.

I asked them, what do they see without the glasses, they said they can’t see properly without it. Always the same answer.

No one answered me what do they see without it. I am not interested in knowing what do they not see. But well I guess I am bit demanding and people don’t think like my way.

But I really would like to know what do they see, is it like some old photographs? Not so clear? Or is it like when we squint our eyes and it seems like right and left Sides are mixing up together? Or what do they see when they look at me? Does my face look like just a  blurry round thing, or anything else or maybe i want different answers from different people.

Who knows I am demanding anyway.

Happily ever after

I was having conversations with two married women.

About a 19 years old girl with cysts in her ovaries.

And how everyone advised her to keep the cyst till she get married and get pregnant and deliver a baby or two.

Everyone including her mother. A mother who supposed to save her child from every pain if possible.
The two women told me, it was a right decision.

No one will marry her anymore if she has an operation. 
Two married women.

I thought they would know what love is.

 Or Maybe I don’t know what love is. 

Maybe its unnatural loving someone not for her reproductive system. I think this mind, the perspectives, the way I see things, the way I can love someone, hold someone will never really matter to anyone in love. 
And I will be loved for pushing a child one day. And I will live happily ever after. 
Two married women,

One of them was my mother.

sick day

Is there a fever song?
A shiver song?
A song to make it right
When everything goes wrong?

Is there a morbid tea
And a transparent bee
And a flower which feeds it
The colours all we see?

Is there a perfect mate?
Under my cold blanket
And the alarm never rings
And we don’t ever get late.


It’s been six month now, and I was wondering how many lives I have saved. And how many times I have been mocked for this.

Thank you, Brother, where ever you are, inside my conscience. I would not have valued life like this without you. Or with you.

After a year, since my brother past away, I realised what death is, I know a bit late, I lot late maybe. Or maybe I was not thinking about other possibilities, I wasn’t thinking about lives I could have saved instead mourning about one life. But eventually I did. Not many people does so. I stopped eating meat. Suddenly chicken soup seemed like dead corpses, boiled with spices. Suddenly it seems my one worthless life is too much of too much to kill so many so many lives just for taste.

Now when I think, how can people eat dead bodies, kill for tasty food, when I go back to my omnivore days. Only thing brothers me I was like other people, and try to judge my older self. Was I unaware of death? Or enjoying the ignorance, people aren’t really born until one day the do born. Until one day they evolve.


Mind is in motion,
Repeating, those yellow
When it is gone.
And all the hollow.

Time and moment,
Right now, right here,
Doesn’t match,
I couldn’t care.

Blues of his eyes,
My dark black one shaded
He lives there, til times stay.
Or till memories faded.

Love, would stay,
Pain shall play, it’s part.
Life would die and so we all are.
Time to time, dust to dust.

Non fiction

When I was walking, alone with the last light of the day. And looked at the sky, toward the tired sinking sun, or towards some fading illumination, I realised what was wrong with me. The sun and I seem very similar from there, tired, cornered, and yet, we both wanted to sink and dissolve in the darkness more and more.

You know, when you are happy, people loves you, people love your smile, your amusing, bright, glowing eyes, face. Your warmth. And when you are sad, miserable, frightened, people will have their own parsonal opinion about you, that, “you have changed”. Why couldn’t they tried considering that was a part of you?

And it happened with Me. All the time, dealing with my pain, my agony alone, so alone that no one even know the burn. Tried easing my pain so badly, that now I am a funny cheery person to all, no one will ever and no one ever did turn back to see me. Neither did I. How could I? I needed to be happy, desperately happy.

They say, he is Morningstar, Lucifer Morningstar. I looked at the setting sun. Is it him? Star of the morning? Yes of course he is. And he burns. The bringer of the light. I wonder, what would happen if he ever stop burning. The morning would never come. And no one will call him a Morningstar. So the hell is the sun?

After a few minutes, it was dark. The time of faith and fear at last arrived, and I had to get back home, I just liked it this way, liked the darkness after light, like I was at heaven, and there was no clash between heaven and hell there, they stood side by side, like our so called contradictory nature of being happy and sad. And I realised, both are so pretty, and yet, we choose to understand the happiness, we don’t even need much word to describe it. But we don’t try, literally deny trying understand the beauty of the sadness. What we feel, why we feel, those lost people, and blunders, those mistakes, pain, if we could understand, and accept as a part of our normal unchanged sane personality. And we could cry together, like we laughed together. We didn’t need to feel so alone. We didn’t need to wait for the morning to come and make us busy from thoughts or for nights to dream happy eyes closed.

For the time being, now, right now, I am not happy, I am sad, and it’s so beautifully creating this delirious pattern, and colourful image, For now I just want to be cornered and see the whole room from there and it’s better visible. 

I don’t want to tell what happened, or I may never tell. It doesn’t matter if it’s dark or full of lights.
The colours of everything will remain same.


Nobody would never know
How to go back in the star.
And every time be coming back
To heal the scar.

I would not build a car to move
Around everywhere
To find proof.
We are the star.

We are the scar or the last of it.
For the first to build
How to fly
To the sky.
Unknown, we are the air.
We are the star.

We are the far.
Holding what so ever
Matters, which doesn’t matter
Nothing is near.

Oh we belong to the star.

Not only gender equality

I was wondering, I wonder sometimes, when I think about my past relationship, and the way it ended, and pitied my former boyfriend’s family and there thoughts. I never thought about my own.

My former boyfriend left me, because his mother thought I am black, her son was more fair skins and certainly more beautiful than me, so he deserved someone better than me. Then some drama begun, like revoking his mobile access, changing his college, and some pointless lie from my former boyfriend, like “my voter Card is at police head quarter” “I have to leave you for your own good because I will die in one year, I have been diagnosed with hole in the heart” and all.
Well, however, it ended, I thanked the time, that it ended, if it wouldn’t have, I had to loose my career, my personality, my dignity, my happiness with a family like this. Now after 4 or more years, I wonder, what my family did when I told them first I am seeing a guy!

They were with their terms as well, “what is his surname?”
I replied “Saha”
“saha? Huh! You didn’t get any other boy or what? You know what they are? They are local drink sellers, hooch sellers”
I protested, “no! They are from East bengal! Bangladesh! Dhaka!”
“oh, bangal? Then okay, how did you come to know him?”

So this was my family, that was their terms. Terms as horrible as my former boyfriend’s family’s.

I don’t know whom to pity more, so cruel and so intertwined our hypocrite society is, that if we are to blame someone, we have to start from our own mother and father, who were supposed be our idols, our teachers, our philosopher and guides.

The people we trust and love blindly, which we even suppose to do, are they wise enough? Wise enough to teach us the every possible value of being a human?