The teabags look at the boiling water, My mind takes its place.

The clouded leopard stretched its limbs and yawned as though it was tired for losing itself deep into the waves of a comfortable slumber. The dark patches scattered like oceanic

It has been raining, They fall like petals,

Another year passed, another year missed. My own musings would crack me up at times, quite literally. I stood on the corner of Farmgate, near the police box, wondering how the next year would pan out.

It was gone. All of it, morphed into a long line of logs, dried twigs and dead leaves in just two days and two nights on both sides of the streets. And the humans call us 'bad omens'. HAH!

“Hey, what are you up to?” The person that the question was directed to looked up from a bunch of papers in front of her. “Please, don't disturb me. I'm trying to write”, said the woman clearly annoyed.

To the sinister that scorns every rose I pick,

A slice of fear took its place in my heart, Like a seedling that nobody should nurture.

Brian stood in front of the mirror brushing his hair backwards and making it as sleek as possible. He straightened his tie and rehearsed his lines, “Maria, will you marry me?”

He laid there in bed. Motionless and numb. His eyes stared at the ceiling, but his mind was elsewhere. How long might he have been lying there? A few minutes? A couple of hours? Days? No it couldn't have been days, but why does it feel like he has been there for days?

When did we end up with such radio hearts: A heart that only tunes to what it likes,

“It was the summer of 1992. I had arrived in Dhaka city from the outskirts in search for a living. Despite having no clue of what to do, I was hopeful. You won't understand. It was a different time; a different city.

I was looking down at the reflections on the freshly waxed linoleum floors. The volume of the reflection kept increasing. I looked up to see the bundle of people huddled over the huge glass doors with “ARRIVAL” written on top.

Are you coming to the burning tree? Where they strung up a witch - Who they say murdered three.

Aung lives with her father in a lush, hilly district of a coastal division where narrow concrete roads bleed through the green, rising hills, twisting and turning.

Before the birds rise, while the city's at rest, before someone hits his dream road, he's awake and active, preparing their road to be walked on.

Stainless steel spoon, Dishwasher detergents, Angle of convergence, Ohnos!

There is a window in this room, And outside a chestnut tree alive and happy.

A corner of a worn cricket poster fluttered as the ceiling fan slowly creaked away, failing miserably to drown out the voices beyond the door. Raiyan fidgeted with the cables of his earbuds that came free with a tube of toothpaste. Disentangling them did nothing to help the fact that the right ear wouldn't work.

Clouds have darkened the otherwise blue sky, like unwelcome guests, making it impossible for the sun to have its way. It is a relief to think that the scorching heat that usually makes its way through the bustling Dhaka streets won't torment anyone today.