"Whispers of Time and Love"
Kamalika Bhattacharya
The Last Bus
Can we ever bind time?
It races forward, unrestrained,
Leaving us to chase its tail
Blaming our failures on fleeting hours.
Morning's laziness rolls into noon,
The sun climbs high, life stands still,
And regrets bloom—
Another day wasted,
Underneath a burning sky.
As evening's call slips through
The sun-drenched dreams of afternoon,
We drift in twilight's shadows,
Holding on to the golden glow.
Sitting alone in life's quiet dusk,
It isn’t the moon’s soft glow I see,
But the towering mountain of mistakes
Casting its cold silhouette.
At day's end, counting gains and losses,
I pack them away in a dusty box,
And catch the last bus home—
To a house of eternal peace.
Yet, under the starry sky of memory,
Flickers of fireflies light my heart—
A smile, a tear,
Lost in thoughts.
And time...
It calls out, time and again
“Last bus! Last bus!”
🍂
Golden Lotus
She blooms like a golden lotus, pure and rare,
With a heart so soft, beyond compare.
Her kindness flows in gentle streams,
Carving paths of love, chasing dreams.
In her eyes, the world is good,
She shares her warmth, as everyone should.
Yet the world, with shadows deep,
Misleads her heart, makes her weep.
Her simplicity, a glowing flame,
Is taken for granted, in life’s cruel game.
She offers love, she offers grace,
But is met with masks, a cold embrace.
She longs to heal, to give and care,
Her golden heart beyond repair.
Though bruised and torn, she stands still,
With open arms, with endless will.
For she believes in a world of light,
Where love conquers, where wrong turns right.
A golden lotus in a sea of grey,
Spreading hope, come what may.
The Fragile Weighing of Love
When love, born from the mind’s pure desire,
meets its quiet end,
regret blooms in the garden of affection—
pale flowers, their petals stained with sorrow,
breaking at dawn,
falling like shattered fragments of guilt.
Once, like the wild waves of the sea,
I surged forward,
only to be drawn back,
pulled by the conscience that binds me to the shore.
Life’s uncertain coin toss
heads or tails, win or lose,
but in the end, who truly knows?
In the tangled chords of love,
can victory or loss be measured at all?
Tell me, how do you measure
the quiet worth of love’s fragile hoard,
when the heart's unruly passions
spill beyond the scales of reason?
বাড়িতে বসেই সংগ্রহ করতে পারেন 👇
2 Comments
Heart touching
ReplyDeleteThank you
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