How do I send my words to you?

How do I send my words to you?

I don’t know since every river dried away

With the grudges of decays.

You know well, I don’t believe in time

Don’t believe in hatred

And I remain secluded as my primordial self.

Just shatter your nutshell

Shatter your grudges

Or I’ll flow down as a creek underneath your feet.

Please don’t lust the world as a young whore without any name and destination

If this rain continues to fall for a thousand of years. Will it cure the sorrow that has spread around the stratums spilling out of fossil oils? And one day the classical Bengal that had observed by Jibonando Das will have disappeared along with the variations of Delta. Nowadays the silts also pervade throughout the urban wind for a preposterous change. The river also stumbles down resembling a truck with a hundred of million tons of garbages. Yet the people still dreaming out of their heritage, Vatiyari, Vawaiyya Songs. The wind is filled with the acute stink of unsocial science. And the time bomb of plastic lurking throughout the bathroom to drawing room, from greenroom to health room. The river that flows down throughout out the soft and flexible source of our throat have also been covered with the million of plastic fossils as the earth filled with the Dynasaur once. Thus the way sorrow became as cheaper as the meadow grass, though the original sorrow remains as a hard to find the object. And you won’t get an original feeling if you rigged out for a voyage and you’ll realize that how the pack of plastic Bottles and Polythenes have intrigued a policy to extinct out the beautiful birds of the earth. Therefore, we have to take it for granted that we shall float on the sea, along with our all histories. And keeping in mind, we have to pay up 17% tax to the group of people who remains as the most failure terrorist of all time and those who lusted the world as a young whore without any name and destination.

An incurable blab of the pave

From the beginning of our growing process, we began to take it for granted the some of the old whining ideas. And as we grew old, we learned simultaneously the recitation of Holy Quran as a tradition and during that learning period the Hujur(who teaches Quran) always scolded the westerners without any reason as Yahudi and Nasara, whenever they got chance.

So we are growing old and trying to hold out our own philosophies, that’s okay.

But today when I was coming across a commercial street, I heard something more, “oh those Jews and Christians are just screwing us and so to my working place, which is a very common phenomenon when some Mullahs always gather out in the translation center for such trivial issues. But I always tries to take a stance against those wrong views. Yet, will there be any cure when most of the blub of the paves related to those xenophobic issues which are originated from Arab. Remember we are in such country where you find a madrasha student from every three pupil.

This mind is not mine

Today, I learned a great lesson from a Zen Magazine. The editorial said that, “the mind which you used to hold on isn’t your. That’s a very common quote with whom I encountered with many times, but today it became comprehensible to me. For instance, a Zen story narrated that, “the essence of your mind isn’t born, so it’ll never die…. It’s not an existence, which is perishable. It’s not an emptiness, which is a mere void…….it enjoys no pleasures and suffers no pain.”

Yes, after experiencing a weekend long meditative state that stands as a great discovery from my side, when I comfortably lost myself into the trance and realized this mind isn’t mine, it just endowed to me for a while. So it’s a complete detachment since this last attachment called “mind” got lost from me, and only thing that I have to do with it is to take care of it. Even though the mind is not mine but the caring must be drastic.