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 A blog with known words. |
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It is a blog where I share my thoughts with you. I try to tell you how Bengal people can write a bit. What is the magic behind it? This is the most important question. These are logically described in this blog post. I hope you will enjoy it very much. |
The Scenario Silvern Roof rack perch, Minivan's crown. Below, A riot of violet, Yellow plash on green. Mountain shoulders, Hunching blue against the light. Sky wide, indifferent blue. Thoughts drift, light as pollen on the air. What if? Just a breath. This moment, only this. Lines: 12 {dropnote:"Prompt"} A picture prompt. "The Daily Poem " 03/08/2026 {/dropnote} |
A Beautiful Anachronism Silvern A flip phone in the hand of a Roman Senator. It rang, A strange delicate song Against the marble silence of the forum. He answered. His robes bent. Frowning at the bright screen. On the other side of the time period? Is it past or present? Why? Most probably, history repeats itself. A horse-drawn carriage is kissing the stone emperor. An LED headlight is flashing. On the dashboard is a digital clock radio. It's 3 AM. Don't use this time! The smell of burning oil mixes strangely. With the ozone smell of old electronics. A woman checks her email on a slick, Silver tablet, Over a longer period of time. Waiting! She would say for a while, A very middle word in an environment. Time bends here. A gentle, confusing curve, Rejecting era, Like mismatched socks, A delightful flaw in the epic. We slip bad laughs. A beautiful anachronism. Lines:31 Prompt ▶︎ |
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| {center} Skin Silvern A thin curtain drawn tight Over the landscape of the body. It drinks the sun. A thirsty map of dots. And the faint blue rivers beneath. It remembers the sting Of a scraped knee long ago, The soft give of a baby's.. This living envelope, Breathing the air in and out, A quiet shield. It stretches, it creases, A history written in lines Around the eyes, the mouth. Sometimes it flushes hot With sudden shame or joy, A silent announcement. And when the cool rain falls, It feels every drop, A million tiny taps, A moment of simple undeniable presence. Blanket of flesh, This fragile marvellous skin. Linhes: 23 {dropnote:"Prompt"} Thursday 05 Prompt Word: Skin ⟴ Use a blank space intentionally {/dropnote} {/center} |
An Artistry Silvern Pliable like soft clay Ready to take a new form. A bend in the willow branch after the spring rain. Not rigid, but yielding, A quiet agreement with the air. Open the shaping hand, the gentle push, Fetching what it needed now. Lines: 7 Prompt ▶︎ |
Greetings of Holi Silvern Today is Holi in India. It is known as the festival of colours. In Holi, we, the public, give colours to our friends, relatives and known people. The main purpose is to tighten the bonds between us. The colours convey good wishes for a brighter and prosperous future. It is a very popular festival. Wish you all a very Happy Holi. |
The Header Silvern The screen glowed, A cold, pale moon. Underneath, a single word, A little card for a life We built and then perhaps forgot. Header. It sat there, stark black text On a digital expense, The way you used to leave your keys On the hall table, Always in the same spot. I click to open the file. It is labelled simply, The Love Letters. But the date stamp is last Tuesday. We haven't exchanged a real letter in years, Only hurried texts, Agreement about groceries. Inside, the document is empty. Just the white space is stretched, A silent, echoing room Where our shared history should be. I remember the day you printed the first one, The official documents where we listed our promises, Signed and sealed, A header for forever. Now, this is a blank page. Was this a glitch? A saving error? Or did you finally delete everything That came after a title? I look up the window, Half-expecting to see your car pulling away, Leaving only the quiet confirmation Of that solitary, accusing word. Header. The start, or probably abrupt, The unedited end. Lines: 38 Prompt ▶︎ |
Wonders of A Child Silvern Big is what at the. They look like mountains. These shoes pinch me hard. To my little red sneakers. My mom told me, I've to wear them. When we go to the park. Where the swing goes so high. I can almost touch the clouds. My voice is too small. So I can't express my discomfort. Just a little bit, Like Grumpy Worm Worm waking up. I watch the dust motes dance. They look like tiny, happy fairies. Who doesn't need big, heavy shoes? I trace the pattern of the rug. Swirls and loops that feel like rivers Where is my toy boat sail forever? Soon we have to go outside. Where the winds stole my hat. And grown-ups wake so fast. I wish to write here on the quiet walls. And my feet are alright. Like a floating desire to meet God. But then I remember, The side is smooth and cool. And maybe, just possibly, Mum will let me run barefoot. When do we get back home? Lines: 29 Prompt ▶︎ |
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