My Room; empty, Alone.
Total void, wormholes.
Same old trip every night,
The Ordeal repeating in Loops.
The night mourning and Everlasting,
Dawn forever a Distant dream.
The faces all blurred and hazy,
Stabbing me, stripping me
Lashing their agonies unto Me.
Still a vision echoes inside -
Someday in the shady future,
Somewhere in the rain washed meadows
Under grey skies stroking the river restless;
My boat will sail the Final river,
Leaving the Madmen dancing and singing behind.
*This are the lines i wrote after a gap of almost two years.
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
Wasted Hopes
Shamin was troubled about his sister’s marriage. It was a huge expenditure for them. He was the only bread earner in the family. His father was old and the mere allowance he got as the priest of the mashjid was not enough to sustain the family even for a fortnight. His mother ran the house labouring from dawn to night. She had no complains. Her only wish left to be fulfilled was the successful marriage of her daughter. A prospective groom had come to see her last week. Today they informed them of their approval for marriage. The only hindrance was a sum of fifteen thousand rupees that was to be paid to the family of the groom for the safe keeping of their daughter. The expense of the marriage was almost arranged. But the main amount of the dowry remained to be settled. He had promised to hand over the sum on the day of the marriage which was a week away.
A sudden wave in the age old torn curtain veiling the termite eaten door made Shamin turn his face. It was the meek innocent face of his sister looking from behind the curtain. She was only nineteen. But they had no way other than sending her off to an apparent settled life. The dim glow of the flickering bulb of the passage cast a shade of melancholy on her face. He smiled back and slowly walked out of the house. The house was itself in a bad state. The walls needed a new coat of clay, the roof new hay. That could be done in due time, the marriage was of prior importance.
He walked out to the tea stall near the market of the village. With the tea the news of advance of the paramilitary forces also came along. The whole area was tensed with the operation that was going on to curb the surging maoist activities in the region. Most of the times the villagers had to face the ire of the hostility caught between the two parties. It was a peaceful village otherwise. He looked at the forests at the far end of the fields. The red glow of the night sky rendered a fiery calm touch to the trees. The forest echoed with the shrill notes of the crickets. The trees looked like regiment of soldiers standing in the fortified castle of the forest. It was hard to believe how dreadful things were under the veil of calmness. He paid for the tea and went to meet someone. The money was to be arranged. The only way to meet that was to take a loan from someone. One of his friends who worked in the city had promised him the loan. He was not very satisfied with the meeting. His friend will not be able to hand over the sum before the day of the marriage. He had no way but to wait upon his word. It was one week left. He came back to the market place.
The sudden sound of consecutive gunshots from the forest stirred the atmosphere. People began to hurry to their homes. He slowly walked back to the house. The central forces walked through the village that night. There were knocks on some doors. Some people were taken away. The wails of the mothers, wives and sisters drove sleep away from the entire village for the night.
The week passed off quickly. It was spent in making arrangements for the wedding, mostly the money. Three thousand of it was saved from Shamin’s salary which he earned working in a local brickfield. He called his friend for the money. He informed he will be reaching in the evening and hand him the money then. He came back to the house. He could not say it bore a festive look. A few colour strings over the small courtyard, a few faded carpets on the floor and a two tubelights on the wall. A few people had gathered in the house. The laughter of his sister could be heard from inside the house. The mood of celebration was a forced one. He wanted to make sure his sister got away before things turned worse than the present. He was sure it would.
Evening trudged in slowly. Every minute passed made Shamins’s heart grow more restless. He went ahead of time for collecting the money. Things back at house were in order. The groom would arrive three hours later. The money was the last thing to be secured. He walked along the village path which passed through the forest. The late august sky was laden with dark rain bearing clouds. The last rays of the sun were trapped behind the wall of the authoritative clouds. Through the few cracks in that wall the dying sharp rays of the sun oozed out. The rebellion of the region seemed to portray itself through the scenes in the sky. It took him one hour’s walk to reach the station to meet his friend. Things turned out to be good and his friend was already there with the money. He also handed over a bangle set which he had ordered from the city for his sister. Shamin offered his sincere gratitude and left the place with the promise to return the money as soon as possible.
He walked back with a light heart. Maybe things would look up from now onwards, he thought. He would be fulfilling his responsibility towards his sister after all. He smiled to himself. It was already dark when he reached the forest. The sky was a burning red reflecting the rage of the forest. A few hundred yards and he will be home. A blinding flash of white light tore across the sky with a loud explosion and after a few steps it started pouring heavily. If the weather continued it could delay the arrival of the groom. The trigger of an unknown instinct made him start running. A few seconds later there were numerous rustles in the forest and shots of gunfire coincided with loud bursts of thunder in the sky.
The rain continued till the next morning. Under the gloomy skies the newspaper arrived at the tea stall of the market place. The steam rising from the glass of tea melted into the moist air of the dawn. At the bottom of the first page there was a news which read :
“One maoist killed in central force’s combing operation. Money and jewellery recovered from the dead body suggest to looting for collection of funds”.
A sudden wave in the age old torn curtain veiling the termite eaten door made Shamin turn his face. It was the meek innocent face of his sister looking from behind the curtain. She was only nineteen. But they had no way other than sending her off to an apparent settled life. The dim glow of the flickering bulb of the passage cast a shade of melancholy on her face. He smiled back and slowly walked out of the house. The house was itself in a bad state. The walls needed a new coat of clay, the roof new hay. That could be done in due time, the marriage was of prior importance.
He walked out to the tea stall near the market of the village. With the tea the news of advance of the paramilitary forces also came along. The whole area was tensed with the operation that was going on to curb the surging maoist activities in the region. Most of the times the villagers had to face the ire of the hostility caught between the two parties. It was a peaceful village otherwise. He looked at the forests at the far end of the fields. The red glow of the night sky rendered a fiery calm touch to the trees. The forest echoed with the shrill notes of the crickets. The trees looked like regiment of soldiers standing in the fortified castle of the forest. It was hard to believe how dreadful things were under the veil of calmness. He paid for the tea and went to meet someone. The money was to be arranged. The only way to meet that was to take a loan from someone. One of his friends who worked in the city had promised him the loan. He was not very satisfied with the meeting. His friend will not be able to hand over the sum before the day of the marriage. He had no way but to wait upon his word. It was one week left. He came back to the market place.
The sudden sound of consecutive gunshots from the forest stirred the atmosphere. People began to hurry to their homes. He slowly walked back to the house. The central forces walked through the village that night. There were knocks on some doors. Some people were taken away. The wails of the mothers, wives and sisters drove sleep away from the entire village for the night.
The week passed off quickly. It was spent in making arrangements for the wedding, mostly the money. Three thousand of it was saved from Shamin’s salary which he earned working in a local brickfield. He called his friend for the money. He informed he will be reaching in the evening and hand him the money then. He came back to the house. He could not say it bore a festive look. A few colour strings over the small courtyard, a few faded carpets on the floor and a two tubelights on the wall. A few people had gathered in the house. The laughter of his sister could be heard from inside the house. The mood of celebration was a forced one. He wanted to make sure his sister got away before things turned worse than the present. He was sure it would.
Evening trudged in slowly. Every minute passed made Shamins’s heart grow more restless. He went ahead of time for collecting the money. Things back at house were in order. The groom would arrive three hours later. The money was the last thing to be secured. He walked along the village path which passed through the forest. The late august sky was laden with dark rain bearing clouds. The last rays of the sun were trapped behind the wall of the authoritative clouds. Through the few cracks in that wall the dying sharp rays of the sun oozed out. The rebellion of the region seemed to portray itself through the scenes in the sky. It took him one hour’s walk to reach the station to meet his friend. Things turned out to be good and his friend was already there with the money. He also handed over a bangle set which he had ordered from the city for his sister. Shamin offered his sincere gratitude and left the place with the promise to return the money as soon as possible.
He walked back with a light heart. Maybe things would look up from now onwards, he thought. He would be fulfilling his responsibility towards his sister after all. He smiled to himself. It was already dark when he reached the forest. The sky was a burning red reflecting the rage of the forest. A few hundred yards and he will be home. A blinding flash of white light tore across the sky with a loud explosion and after a few steps it started pouring heavily. If the weather continued it could delay the arrival of the groom. The trigger of an unknown instinct made him start running. A few seconds later there were numerous rustles in the forest and shots of gunfire coincided with loud bursts of thunder in the sky.
The rain continued till the next morning. Under the gloomy skies the newspaper arrived at the tea stall of the market place. The steam rising from the glass of tea melted into the moist air of the dawn. At the bottom of the first page there was a news which read :
“One maoist killed in central force’s combing operation. Money and jewellery recovered from the dead body suggest to looting for collection of funds”.
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
An Unknown Journey
The evening was setting in. Pre winter chill mingled with the hazy air surrounding the river. There were few boats in the river. A little distance away the steamers were plying. Their black smoke thickened the already saturated dark air of the city.
It was the Ganga flowing through the heart of the city of Calcutta. People came to spend their evening out here. On the railing running along the banks of the river rested the elbows of countless couples of all ages.
In one such boat plying on the river was a group of friends. It was a break from the everyday monotony endured by them. It was not a very picturesque surrounding. The river was drying up slowly. Not a single speck of green could be found anywhere around. The banks were lined by dead concrete structures. Most of them were factories dumping their vile into the river. More structures were still coming up. Civilisation has succeeded in making the river a part of the city. They missed the restless and playful river running between the green valleys. It was a sad mood of the river that prevailed within the boundary of the city.
Diwali was celebrated a few days ago. The few remaining idols of the goddess were still being immersed in the river. They had the boatman row the boat towards the bank where an idol was being prepared for immersion. The remains of the celebrations were still afloat on the river. Melted down skeletons of the goddess lined the banks. Shakti was reduced to a mould of hay and canes.
A little distance away there was a crowd at the side of the river. The boat rowed in that direction. After going a few feet ahead they had the boat turn back. A body was being fished out of the water. Somebody had drowned. It was a common scene here. People die and sometimes it was the river that served as the death bed. The people in the crowd were not interested in the person or the death it seemed. They never are. It is an opportunity of experiencing something out of the ordinary which they relished. The men in uniform were there too. They had to keep the city clean, get rid off the trash. The ambulance left after sometime along with the police. The crowd dispersed too. The man who died lived in a nearby slum, they heard from the boatman.
The glowing sky gradually gave way to the engulfing darkness. The day was dying slowly. Narrow strips of maroon still lingered on the horizon. Swarms of crows flew past the sky piercing the atmosphere with their shrieks.
The bank was empty. The show was over. In the white light of the halogens put up for the immersion a figure of a woman became visible. She wore a torn and old saree. Holding the end of the saree was a small girl about five to six years old. Both of them seemed to stare at something which was not seen by anyone else there. There was something sparkling in the woman’s face. Broken pieces of bangles lay mixed with the dust around the naked feet of the woman. She turned her face to look at their boat. The white light reflected off the tears running down her black dry cheeks. Her eyes were filled with an emptiness that existed beyond the human reach of the universe.
From the radio of some tea stall the faint words of a song blew in with the breeze
“ Koto je elo, koto je gelo
Nahi to kichui songe
Amra ke kothar kothai chole jabo….”
(How many have come, how many have gone
Nothing is with me.
From where we came and where will we go…”
Then and there began an Unknown Journey for the woman.
It was the Ganga flowing through the heart of the city of Calcutta. People came to spend their evening out here. On the railing running along the banks of the river rested the elbows of countless couples of all ages.
In one such boat plying on the river was a group of friends. It was a break from the everyday monotony endured by them. It was not a very picturesque surrounding. The river was drying up slowly. Not a single speck of green could be found anywhere around. The banks were lined by dead concrete structures. Most of them were factories dumping their vile into the river. More structures were still coming up. Civilisation has succeeded in making the river a part of the city. They missed the restless and playful river running between the green valleys. It was a sad mood of the river that prevailed within the boundary of the city.
Diwali was celebrated a few days ago. The few remaining idols of the goddess were still being immersed in the river. They had the boatman row the boat towards the bank where an idol was being prepared for immersion. The remains of the celebrations were still afloat on the river. Melted down skeletons of the goddess lined the banks. Shakti was reduced to a mould of hay and canes.
A little distance away there was a crowd at the side of the river. The boat rowed in that direction. After going a few feet ahead they had the boat turn back. A body was being fished out of the water. Somebody had drowned. It was a common scene here. People die and sometimes it was the river that served as the death bed. The people in the crowd were not interested in the person or the death it seemed. They never are. It is an opportunity of experiencing something out of the ordinary which they relished. The men in uniform were there too. They had to keep the city clean, get rid off the trash. The ambulance left after sometime along with the police. The crowd dispersed too. The man who died lived in a nearby slum, they heard from the boatman.
The glowing sky gradually gave way to the engulfing darkness. The day was dying slowly. Narrow strips of maroon still lingered on the horizon. Swarms of crows flew past the sky piercing the atmosphere with their shrieks.
The bank was empty. The show was over. In the white light of the halogens put up for the immersion a figure of a woman became visible. She wore a torn and old saree. Holding the end of the saree was a small girl about five to six years old. Both of them seemed to stare at something which was not seen by anyone else there. There was something sparkling in the woman’s face. Broken pieces of bangles lay mixed with the dust around the naked feet of the woman. She turned her face to look at their boat. The white light reflected off the tears running down her black dry cheeks. Her eyes were filled with an emptiness that existed beyond the human reach of the universe.
From the radio of some tea stall the faint words of a song blew in with the breeze
“ Koto je elo, koto je gelo
Nahi to kichui songe
Amra ke kothar kothai chole jabo….”
(How many have come, how many have gone
Nothing is with me.
From where we came and where will we go…”
Then and there began an Unknown Journey for the woman.
Monday, October 12, 2009
An uninteresting Story
His eyes opened to the poster of Jim Morrison on the wall reaching out his hands. He picked up his mobile phone. 0 missed calls, 2 new messages.
One offering sunglasses of 1200 bucks for 800 bucks. Deletes.
Second one ringtone of Gayatri Mantra on a monthly basis of 30 bucks. Faith comes cheap. He smiled. Erases it.
12.30 pm.
The room was dimly lit by the sunlight coming from the cobwebbed ventilator. He didn’t want to open the windows. He lit a cigarette. The glowing tip burned silently with a blood red smile. The exhaled smoke rose up to form a cloud over his head. The thoughts also started to cloud in his mind again. They never really leave him. Only the time he is sleeping. He shook the Pc out of the standby mode. This computer was his window to the outer world. It also stored his diet for the soul, his music. After a few mouse clicks, a Baul started singing
“Ami nokol pagol sokol dekhi
Asol pagol pelam na
Mon er moto pagol pelam na”
(All the mad people I see are fake
I could not get hold of a real mad one
I could not find the mad one my heart seeks .)
He picked up the book lying on the table and turned the pages to ‘Araby’. He had read it many times. It reminded Him of her. He never had her. And after all these years he was sort of satisfied that it didn’t happen. He wanted her to be happy with someone else, someone more deserving. He felt the tide of emotions flowing in. He rolled a joint. A few moments of escape, maybe. He closed his eyes and laid down. The pictures started flashing by. The journey of life seemed to have become stagnant in the last few years. He stood at the same place that He was standing years back. The path has ceased to exist.
The music was playing in the background. Fakir Lalon was saying
“Somoi gele sadhon hobe na”
(Spiritual practice won’t bring result if not done in time.)
It reminded him. He looked for time.
1.30 pm. College.
It was the same faces he saw everyday. Faces lined up at same places they do everyday.
There were only two classes remaining for the day when He entered college. He decided to attend the poetry class only. The professor was speaking of ‘Carpe Diem’. The poet had exerted all his sarcasm and persuasion in the lines of his poem to convince his Beloved to return his love while they were still young and throbbing.
His eyes fell upon Purobi. She was sitting opposite him, listening to the lecture. She suddenly turned around and looked at him for a second and again turned to face the professor. She was weird. They conversed, sometimes. They were friends or not - He wasn’t sure. Did He like her? He didn’t know. She was rumored to be going out with someone from college. He didn’t care. He had developed a habit of not caring.
After class He joined His friends for some coffee and cigarette. They were talking about some new movie of Shahrukh Khan. He listened quietly.
They decided to go and hang out in a recently inaugurated shopping mall. He declined and walked to the railway tracks a little distance away from the college. This place always remains deserted. A dying pond surrounded by shrubs and bushes lay just beside the tracks. Trains seldom passed on this tracks. He came here often. The evening was growing dark slowly. The last remains of the sun settled on the top of the trees but eventually had to retreat defeated by the shrouding darkness.
He lit a joint. The fireflies were glowing timidly among the bushes like small dots of hope. The crickets started to hum a solemn tune of solitude. He felt attuned to his surroundings.
The thoughts started to creep in again. But this time it was accompanied by the memories. Along with the unpleasant notes, good ones also tagged along. He smiled thinking of the good times. But which of them haunted him more needs not to be said. The prospect of a lost future made him feel purposeless. He was of no use to anybody. The distant whistle of a train was growing louder. He saw the light emerging from the darkness. It was a chance to the probable End waiting to be capitalized. He stood up.
The train pierced through the darkness at a chilling speed with its shrill scream trailing behind. The red light at the rear of the train sped away breaking off all means of communication.
Total silence descended on the place. A few minutes later the sound of a sigh revealed a sign of life. He emerged from the darkness and looked at the horizon. The clouds sailed away to reveal a clear star studded sky. The mellow glow of a half moon veiled the tress and the fields.
He crossed the railway tracks and started walking on a path rendered invisible by the expanding mist.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Where has She gone?
She came to me.
She came to me at night when I would be in my room, alone and lonely.Her visits were frequent.She showed up more often after a few puffs.She was my solace.I used to take refuge in Her.We would spend time together and when i was done with Her, I felt relieved,I felt free.
Sometimes I would remember Her during the day and pray hard that She came back at night.We had a lovely time together.Nobody in this whole world could have taken Her place.
But as fate would have it, She was gone one fine day.She has not come back till now.And I don't know why She left!I still sit in my room, lonely and restless and wait for her.
But in vain.
No matter how much I try, I cant get her back.
It seems like a part of me is missing.She has left me on my own, stranded in this cruel world.
Now, people who know me must be wondering who this '' She '' is. Well don't be alarmed, She is not human.She is a part of my mind.My ability to put down verses, to be precise.I'm not a poet,nor do I want to call myself one.But penning down those line sort of provided me a relief, helped me to give a vent to my accumulated emotions.And now i cant get the relief.
Sure i do play with a few lines here and there but that hardly seems to serve any purpose.
If any of you good people out there know what is wrong with me,please let me know.I will be highly obliged and be grateful to you for the rest of my life.
She came to me at night when I would be in my room, alone and lonely.Her visits were frequent.She showed up more often after a few puffs.She was my solace.I used to take refuge in Her.We would spend time together and when i was done with Her, I felt relieved,I felt free.
Sometimes I would remember Her during the day and pray hard that She came back at night.We had a lovely time together.Nobody in this whole world could have taken Her place.
But as fate would have it, She was gone one fine day.She has not come back till now.And I don't know why She left!I still sit in my room, lonely and restless and wait for her.
But in vain.
No matter how much I try, I cant get her back.
It seems like a part of me is missing.She has left me on my own, stranded in this cruel world.
Now, people who know me must be wondering who this '' She '' is. Well don't be alarmed, She is not human.She is a part of my mind.My ability to put down verses, to be precise.I'm not a poet,nor do I want to call myself one.But penning down those line sort of provided me a relief, helped me to give a vent to my accumulated emotions.And now i cant get the relief.
Sure i do play with a few lines here and there but that hardly seems to serve any purpose.
If any of you good people out there know what is wrong with me,please let me know.I will be highly obliged and be grateful to you for the rest of my life.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
The successful Life
You come into this world naked.At the last you are at least entitled to a piece of cloth.You come for free,to exit you need to shell out.Isnt this enough success?
Anyways even after so many years the concept of a "successful life" prevailing in our contemporary society is still a queer one.Its still determined by a series of milestones you have to achieve to get entitled to a successful life.
You come into this world,enter a school and do your schooling,get graduated, even excel in your masters; no my boy you still have not not achieved any success yet.Yes you get a 4.8 lakh per annum package your success rate jumps to 20%.Good,you have opened your books now.
Now comes the next stage.You have to get married.You have a fiance,good.No?
An arranged marriage?Still better.Along with the bride you get a Lcd tv,a fridge,microwave,an almirah,a double bed with Kurl-o-pilo mattress( guranteed to keep your spine straight till you die) .If you are really lucky, you may win yourself a Tata Nano too!
If you are a girl then your life should revolve around the following sentence:
" It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife " - Pride and Prejudice.
Now your meter has run upto 50% success rate.
Now that you have secured both a job and a partner, your success meter is at a great tempo and the following things should add to your points.
A Honda city, a flat in a complex with swimming pool, a community hall, children's park, cctv surveillance and guaranteed unpolluted air as there is supposed to be 40% open space with greenery inside the boundary.
A membership to a state of the art equipped 5 star club where you get to socialize [Calcutta Club is out of bounds boy, you need more than money to get in there], a retirememt bond that pays you pension till you die.
Things like this should add another 20% nto your success rate making it go upto 70%.
Next another vital stage. You are a healthy breeding male/female and by the act of the marriage bond you are bound to mate and have lovely babies. You feed them,clothe them,educate them and may be even help them till the way to get settled and married.
Good job.
Success rate reaches 85%.
Add another 5% if your son/daughter manages to settle in the States and get you into an caring old age home which takes you to a field trip once in 6 months.
Success rate is a staggering 90%.
Now comes the time for you to leave. Your last days are spent in reading the Gita,works of Ramkrishna and chanting " Hari naam ". You die peacefully, maybe in a private nursing home with a 50k bill tailing you.
Your loving ones pack you off to get fried in a nice decorated hearse and throw a great “sradhdha” (post death celebrations) in your memory. Take the remaining 10%.
You now have become " a not so bad " successful man to have lived on the face of the earth. All is achieved and you rest in peace.100% achieved.
Phew!Quite a long process if you aske me.
Sounds tempting isn’t it?
'Ekdin matir bhitor e hobe ghor,
O mon amar,
Keno bandho dalan ghar'
[ One day your home will be inside the earth,
Then my heart,
Why do you build bunglows]
Sugning Off.
Anyways even after so many years the concept of a "successful life" prevailing in our contemporary society is still a queer one.Its still determined by a series of milestones you have to achieve to get entitled to a successful life.
You come into this world,enter a school and do your schooling,get graduated, even excel in your masters; no my boy you still have not not achieved any success yet.Yes you get a 4.8 lakh per annum package your success rate jumps to 20%.Good,you have opened your books now.
Now comes the next stage.You have to get married.You have a fiance,good.No?
An arranged marriage?Still better.Along with the bride you get a Lcd tv,a fridge,microwave,an almirah,a double bed with Kurl-o-pilo mattress( guranteed to keep your spine straight till you die) .If you are really lucky, you may win yourself a Tata Nano too!
If you are a girl then your life should revolve around the following sentence:
" It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife " - Pride and Prejudice.
Now your meter has run upto 50% success rate.
Now that you have secured both a job and a partner, your success meter is at a great tempo and the following things should add to your points.
A Honda city, a flat in a complex with swimming pool, a community hall, children's park, cctv surveillance and guaranteed unpolluted air as there is supposed to be 40% open space with greenery inside the boundary.
A membership to a state of the art equipped 5 star club where you get to socialize [Calcutta Club is out of bounds boy, you need more than money to get in there], a retirememt bond that pays you pension till you die.
Things like this should add another 20% nto your success rate making it go upto 70%.
Next another vital stage. You are a healthy breeding male/female and by the act of the marriage bond you are bound to mate and have lovely babies. You feed them,clothe them,educate them and may be even help them till the way to get settled and married.
Good job.
Success rate reaches 85%.
Add another 5% if your son/daughter manages to settle in the States and get you into an caring old age home which takes you to a field trip once in 6 months.
Success rate is a staggering 90%.
Now comes the time for you to leave. Your last days are spent in reading the Gita,works of Ramkrishna and chanting " Hari naam ". You die peacefully, maybe in a private nursing home with a 50k bill tailing you.
Your loving ones pack you off to get fried in a nice decorated hearse and throw a great “sradhdha” (post death celebrations) in your memory. Take the remaining 10%.
You now have become " a not so bad " successful man to have lived on the face of the earth. All is achieved and you rest in peace.100% achieved.
Phew!Quite a long process if you aske me.
Sounds tempting isn’t it?
'Ekdin matir bhitor e hobe ghor,
O mon amar,
Keno bandho dalan ghar'
[ One day your home will be inside the earth,
Then my heart,
Why do you build bunglows]
Sugning Off.
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