Friday | 10 January 2025 | Reg No- 06
বাংলা
   
Friday | 10 January 2025 | Epaper

Retention

Published : Saturday, 21 December, 2024 at 12:00 AM  Count : 1527
Ishrat J Tahmid
 
An early morning,
In a book library, I was standing in front of an old wooden shelf.
There was a dusky book with a red raw flap;
The cover tended inward through wrinkles.
From the east window,
the summer sun crushed;
The dust over it gets shimmery and twinkles.
I touched it once
and my fingers have kept their print on the deep instance.
I opened up the book,
on the white, weighty page, a fountain has chased out a name
with some beautiful words to keep it special to the seer,
I got through for a long time.
A live, visible bunch of feelings filled up with each line,
shaped like a leaf that feels for the tree at its end.
My mind became turbulent as a fog of winter snow fell over me and 
I hid myself in the book like a lost bookmark.
Seems likeI spelled, revived and one more time; dreamed.



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Editor : Iqbal Sobhan Chowdhury
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