Mizanur Rahman Your voice feels like the melody of a cuckoo bird, so pure and bright,Your smile like a lotus floating on Mithapukur’s water in gentle light. Your tears seem like the rain that falls in the month of Shraban’s rain,Your graceful walk feels like a creation of Rabindranath’s poetic strain. Are you the Mona Lisa painted by an artist’s skilled hand and pen?Or are you the timeless beauty known as Banalata Sen? Yet in my heart, one thing I feel again and again—You see

Mizanur Rahman Disclaimer: If the girls get angry, I am not responsible 😄 Jiniya says—“What are you thinking about so much?” Sadia smiles—“Have some tea with biscuits, just a touch.” Jhuma says—“I sleep all day long, it’s my style,” Sumaiya asks—“Are you sleeping or awake all the while?” Natasha says—“You can even have some sweet batasha,” Romana says—“Please calm down your anger, a little softer.” Maria cries—“Please don’t leave me alone, stay,” Mim says—“Will you eat…

by Mizanur Rahman I don’t have the same appetite as before, not at all, In the morning I eat twenty rotis and two country chickens small. Before noon I eat a few fruits, without any delay, Twenty-five bananas, apples too, and two liters of water each day. At noon I eat rice, about three kilos on my plate,। With two chickens beside it—otherwise something feels not quite great. In the afternoon I eat two and a half kilos of yogurt, creamy and fine, And half a kilo of puffe

by Mizanur Rahman Khokon Sona has stopped eating and drinking, upset and sad, Something between him and his mother has turned quite bad. Pouting, he sits beside the bed, holding its wooden frame, His father comes and lifts him up, calling him with love and name. “Who beat you? Who scolded you? Who raised their hand so high? We’ll settle this together, you and I, father and son, we’ll try.” Angrily, Khokon speaks while stammering through his tears, “Father, I can’t handle you