
Poetry
Bouts of Depression
A long time ago, elderly people asked me, ‘what ails you, my boy?’ I am
A long time ago, elderly people asked me, ‘what ails you, my boy?’ I am
The bridge is worn out, has turned into a mere skeleton trying again and again
The boy in the blue shirt automatically appears with a cylinder once a month. ‘Thirty-rupee
Here is a speech in the “Two Day International Conference on Bengali Muslims at the
“Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot
When the sun goes down, Birds return to the neem tree, And carouse for half