The picture of Bengal swaying in the swing of conspiracy. Sometimes the heart is pounding in the pouring rain, sometimes the heart is bursting at the seams in the heat, as if the land is crying for ever sorrow, and sometimes the dust comes and makes a mockery of it.sundara'i nā āmāra janmabhūmi.
Ever or the flight of white cotton clouds on the canvas of clear blue sky takes my mind to the realm of clouds. Or shivering in the cold winter air, when the first light in the morning thrills me to get a mat in the yard, I think my homeland is not beautiful. On rainy days, just like the fairy tales go on the verandah or anywhere else in winter, so does the festival of pitha puli. Sometimes a naughty teenager drinks the date juice of a bone hanging on a date tree and trembles in winter. In the spring, again on a dusty day, I see a new outfit in nature. The sweet fragrance of the buds floats in the air. And I am fascinated by the scattering of dew in the early morning light. Let's walk on the dew-soaked path with great joy. Busyness increases all around this spring day. The continuous words of the irrigation machines give birth to a poetic alluring melody. The farmer became busy taking care of his member planted seedlings. And in the midst of this activity, I suddenly remember. This is the month of Falgun, on the day when Kuhu was called, the children of the Sun of Bengal drew new sketches in the picture of Bengal in the color of blood. This is my pride on the 21st of February.
Great