So many flowers plucked,

ସଖୀ ଆଖି କୋଣେ କୋଣେ,ଆଜି ମୁଁ ଜାଣିଲିନୁହେଁ ମୁଁ ଗୋ ଏକାଚଲା ପଥେ ଅଛ ତୁମେ ।।

Make gardens thereIn stead.Gardens are homesto buds, aspirant.They are places forbuds to bloom,fragrances to loom,twigs to support,Seeds to germinate,flowers to luminate.They are butHalls of tenderness,temples of delicacy,forests of innocence,Skies of aspirations,Oceans of love,Schools of peace, andWorlds of coexistence.Give usSuch places of worship,Such spaces to bloom,Such gardensfor our kids to loomacross the bordersof languages,of knowledge,of social…

After so many moons had setFar below the horizons of life,And newer realms had surfacedover my ocean deep heart’s skyAnd long cherished keys to passionswere lost and found so often,again and again.The wildernesshad left the jungle,in search of something new,The beauty of anonymityhad abandoned the city,leaving behindthe unadorned deitiesin the broken temples.

ଜ୍ବାଳା ଭରି ଦେଇ?ମୋ ଭିତରରୁଦ୍ଧ କୋଠରୀରେଏବେ ଖାଲି ତୁମ ଛବି ଭର୍ତ୍ତିଏ କଥା ତ ତମେ ଜାଣଖୁବ୍ ଭଲ କରି!ତଥାପି କାହିଁକି ଭଲାମୋ ଛାତିକୁ ଜଳାଇବାତୁମ ପାଇଁ ଗୋଟେମଉଜିଆ ଖେଳ ପାଲଟିଛି,ଯେତିକି ଭାବୁଛି ଏବେତୁମେ ମୋର ମୋର –ସେତିକି ସେତିକି ତମେଆଜିକାଲି ଯାଉଚ ଦୂରେଇ!ମୋ ଆଖିଠୁରହୁଛ ଛଡେଇ ହୋଇ! !ତମରି ଇଲାକା ବୋଲିଚିତ୍ର ଟିଏ ଉଠାଇବାଖୁସିରେ ଖୁସିରେ –ସତେ କ’ଣମୋ କପାଳେ ନାହିଁ? ?

A paradise turns into Hell.

art of faking made profession.