A love story that has ever fallen in love with a pen
The midnight white soft joshna started arguing for its place with the yellow light of the neon lamp post. The lamppost is always in the back row in the competition to attract people, but he occupies the road in his area alone. And Jochna desperately wants a touch of the dust that has just fallen. I watch the battle of the two arrogant lights in awe.
So I don’t even notice when someone comes up to me. Suddenly I looked to the side and said in shock, who are you? A man with a myriad of incomprehensible words all over his body, who could not catch a word even after looking very carefully, said in a strange, deep voice, “I am a love story.”
Antecedents or my identity
I have a pen. Just a little bit of my identity remains incomplete. I am the pen of writer Adnan Shahriar. Maybe you have heard his name or not. Even then I’m proud to be a writer’s pen. Although nowadays that pride has faded a lot.
The author has not been able to write anything for a long time. He sat down with the notebook, rubbed the pen on the paper for a while, and then sat with his head down for a long time. He can’t write anything, absolutely can’t. Outside, he says, big writing is coming, but in the house, he is tearing leaves after leaves in vain, and throwing me far away. Unable to control himself, he is behaving badly with everyone, sometimes he spends the whole time walking and sleeping. He muttered something to himself. Some kind of madness, some kind of suicidal tendencies are scary nowadays. Even today, after sitting in silence for a long time, he suddenly broke down in tears.
Then he sighed sadly and fell asleep on the table. I have no idea what the pain is. Smiling ?? What else to think of the pen ??
The author only knows how sensitive his pen actually is. I came down the street. I’ll find out tonight. No way, Roy reads a neglected story on the floor of a man’s Kantha or in an airless inaccessible alley!
Then the love story
Darkness is as deep in me as the savagery seen after a long time. The last signs of the known path also leave behind the weakest steps. Walking silently beside me, the love story. I looked at him and said, where will you not tell me the story ?? He smiles, you don’t want to say. I have come down the road for you after a long time. I say, so I understand ?? My inner passion is moist. He says, yes so, I was born with the responsibility of time. Then I wait for one day to disappear in the middle of someone.
The love story looked at me, then as if in an egg-white voice, I would be wrapped up in your lap. I also say in a sea voice, but so be it. This time he tells a love story with a faint smile, but remember you have to take a hard test at the end of the story. I will then, in the intoxication of liberation, say, I will give. You start The love story leaned over my body, the first word falling in wonderful tenderness from its faint appearance.
At the beginning of the story
“Do you know the watchman of this neighborhood ?? Yes, of course. Not to mention, he has a lot of reputation. What will happen if the skinny is thin is his courage. There is no record of any thief or hijacker escaping after hearing the sound of his whistle. Due to his fear, no incident has taken place at night in this neighborhood for the last 13 years. People sleep peacefully when they hear the sound of his flute. ” I look at the story of a good home in amazement. One line is falling and it is as if the wings are matching the first dew on the dew.
The love story suddenly stops. Take a piece of firefly from the road and say, don’t look at me like this. I said, why ?? He says the more you know me, the harder your test will be.
“Chowkidar is so brave but very lonely. After a tiring and monotonous walk all night, lying on a bench every morning, he thought of a girl he had left behind. He was lost a long time ago in the rule of being lost. And as a rule of hardship, he has remained very deep in the chest. Then, after waking up or going out late at night, the watchman thought that someone was waiting for him. What a surprise! We all know we are all alone, but we are still waiting for that lonely exile. ” Turn around and come back to that neon lamp. Jochna realizes that she has lost her rights and is lying here in the yellow light. I woke up one night to hear the call of a bird.
The love story continues to say, “Suddenly one day a new girl came to this neighborhood. The dark-skinned, quiet girl pulled the lower fatigue out of the corner of her eye. The watchman stopped. His shameless legs are stuck. Somewhere, the scent of a long-awaited pain awoke again. Seeing that, the girl got scared. Goes inside the house. The watchman sighed and made his way. ” I can’t hear any birds calling. Wonder if there are no night birds in this city ??
The beginning of your story is beautiful, I say, a lonely watchman, a mysterious woman, then ??
We walked across the boundaries of silence. I have understood that no one has any direction except floating in the air. Sighing knows this sleeping city doesn’t know how to look back. “Sometimes the watchman comes and stands in front of the yard. Just staring or waiting to catch a glimpse. Maybe the girl’s fear was broken one day because of this non-toxic. The next day he called the watchman and said, will you say something ??
The watchman’s throat went dry. What do you think one day! Finally, he said, I will drink water. The girl brings water.
The next day again. The next day is the same. A watchman who came to drink a glass of water and an ignorant girl with a glass of water in her hand ”. The love story stops and takes a breath. I came and sat on the grass. The grass flower that hides the grass that will cross the galaxy with one mind, his favorite hidden treasure. “But the watchman doesn’t want to say anything to the girl.
The one who once jumped with a flute on the top of Nandu Chora or every night on the side of the wall is the most secret myth. Or the dream of one day getting lost in nothing. But in front of him can only say nothing but water. The girl could also ask something. But he is also waiting. One day the guard sat down and asked, is there anyone at home ?? The girl replied without raising her head, my husband is asleep. The watchman stopped.
I also stopped. There is a love story with a beauty that does not turn a blind eye. That gray story a little earlier is now a mid-youth soundtrack. My chest heaved. Why is there so much wailing in the depths of all love ?? Well, did the watchman also feel that oldest feeling ?? As soon as he told the love story, he said, “Yes, he did. And so he did not go away for four days. What a surprise! Four days later, when everything came back to haunt him, the girl asked for the first time in a very soft tone, “Where have you been for so many days?” Ah, if the girl knew how much the storm changes direction.
Then again that old rule. A thirsty watchman whose real thirst is quenched by a dumb sound and a woman who is waiting with water in her hand without knowing what to expect. Yet the two visions are one, yet to escape from not getting everything after a while. One day the watchman brought a garland of hyacinth flowers from somewhere. The girl ran in fear. After a long wait, the surprised watchman dropped the innocent Malakhani like a falling star.
A love story that has ever fallen in love with a pen
“The next day the watchman was surprised to see the girl waiting with a glass of water in her hand. He had never seen the girl wait before. The girl asks, why did you bring flowers yesterday?
– You make me drink water every day, so I thought I’d give you something.
– I was scared.
– No one has ever given me anything before!
Then silence. Maybe there was a lot to say or nothing to say. Again the girl says, what did you do with those flowers ?? The watchman said I have thrown it away. The girl is a little upset to hear “?? I’m upset. This boredom is the cold air of the last night, the pure silence at the bottom of the hue and cry is the best story of this life. What other night will come in this life ?? I just cry. “The watchman doesn’t mind anything all day. I just think the girl was a little upset ?? If not, why is his face pale ?? Once night comes.
The watchman went down to work. People slept peacefully at the sound of his last night’s whistle. Suddenly, in his sleepy eyes, when the curtain of the night has faded, the watchman discovers that a man is going to steal somewhere with great care. The watchman goes ahead. Suddenly in the light of the lamp post, he discovers the man’s face. The girl’s husband. The watchman stopped.
A love story that has ever fallen in love with a pen
Ask, then ?? The love story points to the front. I look. I saw the watchman standing still and the thief standing in front of him with great reverence. I looked around in amazement. Everything actually stops, Mahakala stops for a moment. The love story looks at me, says, goodbye. I say, why ??
– I’ll be lost as soon as I tell the last line of this story. My place will be in your author’s book.
– Be that as it may, but why don’t you stay with me?
– I will not stay because the unfinished story can only be someone’s personal property. I won’t stay because when the story is over, he is no longer alone, he becomes everyone.
– If not?
– Then you can’t hear the last line of the story.
– That’s the rule. Either you have to go back to the author after hearing the last line or you have to wander this unfinished story on the road or in the desert.
– There is no other way ??
– No, that’s our life cycle. The same sequel to all the stories. We do not have the ability to go beyond that.
With great difficulty, I want to lose everything. Why I came to hear this story. Why is it so tied to the barbed wire of the rules? The love story looked at me with a soft smile, saying, I didn’t say I have to give a hard test at the end of the story ?? I see a pale moon hanging in the old sky, some dust still finding itself in the still air, the holiness of the last hours in the dim light of the stars, a lone watchman standing in front and a timid thief, yet it seems like there is no one like me Never was.
Adnan Shahriar jumped out of bed. Just the idea of a wonderful story in the bedroom came to mind. The story of a thief’s wife’s strange relationship with a lonely watchman. Somehow he put the body on the chair and pulled out the paper and pen. He did not notice the fatigue of the pen and the appearance of losing everything. He started writing page after page.
He lives in the joy of writing. As if there is no one else in this world, there is nothing. The joy of being able to write again is nothing else. The rustling sound of the pen on the paper is thrilling the veins of the body. Ah, so much joy to survive!
The story of that watchman has been printed in many places. According to the life cycle of the story, it has reached the reader. And I, that old pen, am lying in a cold wet damp shade after the ink runs out. Sometimes sheltered by the faint dust, sometimes I tied myself in a spider’s web and waited for it to melt one day. Sometimes I remember the author.
This life seems strangely satisfying when I think of the joy I became his partner one day. Sometimes he even thinks of love stories. We never met again according to the rules of the story cycle. Still, when I remembered his words, I ran away. Finding the incoherent thoughts in the acute depression is just the remnant of the mistake! Who knows why those who let me get lost one day in order to get a lot, after getting all of them, burn their minds to get lost!