When darkness meets darkness in a dark room, light happens.

Words swirl in a mad dream, crooked half-turns become wonderfully crooked half-turns, and reason itself goes for a spot of moonbeam.

November

Hear,

the sound of fire

by the hour

your face melts

into mine;

And I pine

for my rose,

love, stay close,

for the kingdom

is at hand,

or is it

a nonsense flick

on a hazy screen,

I wonder, girl,

if at all,

I had touched the tip

of what lies beneath

the barren stars

and I wonder,

what colour are your lips

Deathly hallows

Tonight the stars are all gray.

Sorry, I never thought about the end;

That wide waters may drown my stone,

I would rather not see in my dreams.

My colours merge into your dull eyes,

And the curtain silently moves along

my hatred for you. I break free of my guilt,

in a moment of immense solitude.

The words turn into hyacinths, all white,

They cling together throughout the torrent of silence,

I almost smile, when the rain stops in the afternoon.

Your words, they die in your blazing chariot, like the wish of light.

Tonight I'll get to see the stars.

Long before the solace of life merged with the solace of death, healing benevolence used to be the privilege of the Gods......

Brishtir tirondaaji pawrokh korini bohukaal, computer'r pawrda roman-hawrophey aar miliye newao durlawbh. Modhye aabar daana melechhey ekraash awnichhey bhawr korey thaka aaloshyo; shawb miliye mostishko-kawndor nawrok naa hoke, guljaar toh bawtei! Chopin theke Suman chhnuye bhaabtey chawaar ichchhey ghurpaak kheye chhnuye aashchhey naa-bhabnaar shom aar tawkhkhuni mawne hochchhey, mawhoniyo awpekhkhaar praantey roddur ketey ei bujhi bidhyuter ushkaani dekhbo! Aasha kuhokinee ebong duraasha kawshtopachcho naa holeo dhnok giltey gawlaar kaachhey shomudro-mawnthoner smritituku knatar mawto bnidhey thaakey. Awgotyaa, paanshi ghaat-bondee aar belghoriao dur-awsto!

Blood is red.

Teardrops have no colour.

When our experience glistens with collective sadness and long afternoons become a matter of life in death for a thousand Dorian Grays, it could be safely assumed that a faction of eternity, indeed, is indebted to Pablo Neruda.

Like a casual sketch or a swift swig of nothingness, here I waste my words, apparently without any rhyme or reason. My words, they go into the crevice of oblivion without me and what pain it is to  accept the feeling of being left out! The stars look too bright and too distant from where I stand and afar a leaden echo reflects the little spot of bother that is getting red-hot inside my hidden treasure box. It's been a ride. Not exactly a joyous one—a ride nonetheless.

This blog has become rather a ruin of could have beens. I'd better breed Lilacs out of the dead land with this wonderful piece of writing......

http://www.artconcerns.com/article.php?n=1

Thank you, Riu.

Haajar aalok-borsho periye ekti bikel ghawno hoy shouro-jawgoter awkinchitkawr ek grohey. Vivekananda park'r modhye laal-ronga cherry chumu khaay shawtaan willow tey. Shoru pawth enke-bneke roddur egoy gaachher nichey jekhaaney chhaya'r shenaanee ghaapti merey boshey nijhjhum awpekhkhaay. Beybaak dikshunyo chhele taakiye dyakhe park'r mawg-daaley mihi baatash kemon gaan hoye jaachchey aan-mawne! Tokhkhuni, thik tokhkhuni, ki bheeshon kaangalpona peye boshey hooshhoosh beriye jawa bus guloke dekhte dekhte, godhuli'r lukono pocket ey awporaajita-phul shukiye kaath shey muhurtey!

Bhalo laagey. Bhalo laagey naa-o. Ekishongey, shawmosto shawhor jawgojhompo beje othey kemon! phirti raastay bhalobasha-udyoto bondhuder dongol pelican hoy maajh-kolkatay. Railing'r chhaya tirjoktawro elaay footpath-joraa phul'r shawbmichhil ey, bhikhiri raa phokotey pawa swapno shoriye kawlai kawra baati egiye dhawrey . Ekti mukh knepey othey smritir aaloshye. Korun jawl'r bhit ey dhil porey jyano. Chai baa naa chai shawmosto aakash jurey neon-hawllat ey shei knaapuni'r daag laagey nitanto awnobokaashey.

Raajkonye shupti-shoyaan ey. Awthoba jaagoron aamaro prokrito obhiruchi noy swapno-kolaahawley.