Strange love story

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'Do you like the mountains, or the sea?'

• 'Desert'.

• 'Do you like blue, or red?'

• 'Black'.

• 'Do you like the morning, or the afternoon?'

• 'Night'.

• 'Do you like Jochna, or the winter morning sun?'

• 'Fire.'

• 'Do you like the fountain, or the rain?'

• 'Flood.'

• 'Why did you say so weird?'

• 'Why? Why should I be weird? '

• 'Hey, you didn't choose an answer from the options.'

• 'The answer I got was not there'.

• 'But that's all weird answers say'!

• 'I did not lie, you want a false answer?'

• 'No, I don't want that. But why are your 'favorites' so strange?'

• 'Strange!'

• 'Or what? Desert favorite, not mountain-sea. Not red-blue, favorite color is black. Jochana or winter morning sun, not your favorite fire! Not even a fountain or rain, you like the flood! Isn't that weird? '

• 'Surprised to say desert favorite? But look how close you-I-we are, but you are not in need, I am not, we are nowhere. Like the Khakha Dhudhu desert. You-I-we are all very alone, alone and alone. '

• ‘Then why black or night?’

• ‘The lone I-you-we cry with the black color of the dark darkness closing the door, the lone I-you-waking up in the middle of the night is our companion in the gloomy black darkness. There is no one else, there is no one. Jibanananda has even said, ‘There is only darkness ...’. At that time there were savage soldiers to face the darkness, now there is only darkness, there is no one to face. However, go to the black color or dark night favorite! Strange! '

• "But fire?"

• ‘The innumerable tireless sorrows and hardships that have accumulated in the chest, the burning fire of coal, and the fire has to be endured to get the chest. Jochana or the sun, Seto is the color of poetry. Romanticism. Huh! And you have to burn in the fire. Look at the fire, how pure is gold? Moreover, how useful the fire is, look at the divine cigarette can be caught! Nicotine stops some other fire. Aha! '

• ‘But that means no rain, no fountain, no flood?’

• ‘Yes flood! Extreme flood. Charachar, the locals were swept away by the flood. This is what I want till the end to survive. The flood, an omnivorous flood. In that flood will be washed away the invisible lonely desert that awoke between me-you-us, the dark black night, the fire burning in the depths of the chest. Everything will be washed away by the flood. A new dream will wake up when the silt falls. Uki will give in the dark next morning and green crop in Dhudhu desert. The next life. The song of life. '

• ‘And?’

• ‘The gulp of the chest will be swept away by the flood of two eyes. Numerous dead minds of people will wake up again. And ... and, sitting face to face in the dark, Rob Banalata Sen. '