Rainy days

Rainy days

What do you want to write on such a day?

I woke up this morning and saw that as far as I could see, the whole sky was full of rain. Head. Died. It is raining incessantly from above. That section is not so subtle as to avoid the eye, but not so school that it covers the eye. And his constant voice is coming to the ears; When that sound sounds like the murmur of a river, when it sounds like the murmur of a leaf. In fact, it is together and two - e; Because today the sound of water and the sound of wind have become one and the same. The reason why a person is oblivious on such a day is because all his mind comes to his eyes and ears. Only the Bengalis know what a wonderful smooth coating the rainy sky in the land of our eyes - Peranae Ala. Looking at today's sky, it seems that the rain with bird feathers wrapped around him in the shadowy corner of the shade, so his touch is so soft, so soft to our eyes. After that, I saw a new life flowing inside the plants and fields. She is swaying all over the coconut trees in the joy of her life, and the bushy hair on their heads is sometimes - or lying down, sometimes - or tangled. And the branches of the trees which are not visible under the pressure of the leaves, the leaves of the trees are falling on him, hugging each other; Sometimes - or bent at the touch of the wind - it takes on such a shape that it looks as if the trees are drinking water from all the leaves. And this whimsical wind is dancing again and again for five minutes at its own pleasure, spreading the rain and stopping again. Then he comes back, touching again what had been fixed for a moment, and running away, as if he knew that whatever was alive but quiet at his touch would tremble at first, then be distracted, then shake his head, then throw his arms and legs; And the water will boil. This hide-and-seek game of wind with rainforests is what I see with my eyes full and what I hear with my ears. I don't have any thoughts in my mind anymore, I just don't have a clear form in the corner of a vanvaniya, there is no specific name in the corner.

This poem is similar to Gitagovinda as music. And a hundred times better than that as a poem. The things that are going through my mind today are so isolated and so random that if they could be put into language and then given in writing, my essay would be so chaotic that the reader would be confused. . And if there is a reader who can read the irrelevant prose like Chhara-Panchali in Bangladesh, I am not ready to write with an open mind today. Many of the things I remember today have some value - I have them, I don't have anyone else. Long, dead, long time - if the petals of a dried flower in a forgotten corner can be suddenly discovered, then the one who once kept it in a living state is only worth that dried flower, to others it is just colorless odorless garbage. Even in human memory, there are many dried flowers that cannot be shared with others. But it can be discovered on such days.

He came back, he could not write without lighting the lamp; And it is not as easy to waste ink as it is to waste light. So let's end this article here