অসাধারণ... চোখ দিয়ে জল পরছে... থামছে না.....

Pyaar haule haule bhi nahi ho raha hai!

MY FAVOURITE BLOG

The man whom you are seeing.. This man is my inspiration for writing blogs, listening to Bengali music, reading bengali books, being yourself, to cherish the bangaliyana I have within myself, perfect Bengali pronounciation and what not...

ANIRBAN BHATTACHARYA (the surname which I carry too, but I am not related to him XD) the man who is the BANGLA INDUSTRY RIGHT NOW..

His movies, productions, music directions are amazing.. He is amazing.. I have always wanted to right a blog about him because I can write hundreds of words when it comes to him, but everything vanishes when I hold my pen..

He makes me laugh, he makes me cry and he makes me die..... After exiting from tumblr all I will do is study and watch his movies.. He is so amazing..📜✨

Anirban, anirban, anirban...

Let me promote my Spotify Account too:-

Spotify

Hiya🦋

Hiya🦋, a user on Spotify

ami tamake bhaalobhashi (please tell me I said it correctly cutie)

it is correct but that will be "tomake" 😭😭💗💗

Let me not to the marriage of true mindset

Admit impediments, loue is not loue..

~Sonnet 116 - William Shakespeare

oh my heart.

Coke Studio Bangla:-

Deserves more recognition:-

Anondodhhara~ (Rabindra Sangeet)

My mother says, "Child, no one likes a mad woman".

But mother, did no one like you too?

or did you swallow your madness, choke on it for years after years

to make them like you?

"Write it down", they say.

"Turn your pain into poetry".

But its not just pain, mother.

It is rage too.

A tempest trapped in my chest.

The pages burn to ashes whenever I put a pen to test.

I try to be a poet.

but I am not a poet mother,

I am a woman.

I want to fly and soar

But they clip my wings down.

So I scream and shout

But they tell me I am mad and muffle my cries.

I water down my painful rage

But I keep choking on it.

"Child, no one likes a mad woman", my mother says again.

I know mother, I know.

So I remain silent

like a simmering volcano.

But the day I rise, there will be ashes

No one will like me then.

No one will be left to like me then.

- P

Heeramandi (2024)

my favorite author edgar allan poe! His famous poem "alone". Give it a read, tears will come down automatically.

And all I loved, I loved alone.

Edgar Allan Poe

Happiest Birthday to one of my favorite author

Franz Kafka

If death has a flavor, it will still be less bitter Than the day you left me, a shadowed quitter. In the shadow of sorrow, where memories linger, I trace the outline of loss with a trembling finger.

In your absence, the world lost its sheen, A dull, gray canvas where color had been. Birds that once sang now silently grieve, Echoing the sorrow that you’ve made me believe.

The sun fades to grey, in a sky full of tears, Each droplet a whisper of our vanished years. Your absence, a wound that time cannot heal, A sorrow so deep, it seems almost unreal.

Each moment without you is a teardrop's fall, A silent whisper through an empty hall. The scent of loss lingers in the air, A fragrance of memories, too heavy to bear.

The taste of despair, a dark, bitter wine, Pales next to the anguish that is wholly mine. For in every heartbeat, a void echoes clear, A reminder that you are no longer near.

I wander through our memories, faded and torn, Clinging to remnants, by time worn. Your laughter, a ghost in the quiet night, Haunts my dreams, a spectral light.

Yet in dreams, you return, like a soft, fleeting song, Bringing a moment of peace where I feel I belong. But morning arrives, and the sweetness is gone, Leaving me empty, as I face the dawn.

The morning light, once a gentle gold, Turned harsh and cold as the tale unfolds. If death has a flavor, it's sweet in its rest, Compared to the ache lodged deep in my chest.

If death has a flavor, it’s a taste I won't fear, For it's gentler by far than your absence, my dear. Until then, I endure, with a heart that is shattered, Knowing no taste could be more bitter than what mattered.

If death has a flavor, a final sting, It pales in the shadow of your leaving’s ring. For death is a promise of a closing door, But you left me stranded, yearning for more.

Bitter is the taste of unspoken goodbyes, Of empty arms and unanswered cries. If death has a flavor, it’s a fleeting breath, But your departure is a living death.

-Varsha