শব্দ জোনাকি (Whispers of Fireflies)

The news of Nepal’s devastating disaster is enough to weigh down any heart. In a single moment, a massive glacial collapse swept away countless lives, and the true number of the missing is still unknown. Many had gone there on vacation—drawn by generous landscapes, mountains, and rivers. Some were pilgrims traveling toward Kailash–Manasarovar. Others were there with family, or with friends, fulfilling long‑held dreams. None of them could have imagined the fury quietly gathering in the heart of nature. In an instant, the same benevolent mountains turned merciless, shattering everything in their path. Alongside local residents, many tourists and pilgrims are still missing. The number of foreign visitors caught in the disaster is tragically high. Across Nepal and Tibet, more than three hundred lives have already been lost, and the number of missing is nearing fifteen hundred. Among them are over five hundred foreign travelers Americans, Europeans, Indians, and Chinese pilgrims. Within jus...

"I lost my lost saints in pieces. With some, their voices eroded slowly then quickly like graveyards on seaside cliffs crumbling into ocean. Some began shaking: their hands, then arms, then legs. Some stood up when they could not stand and fell because it was too late for the miracles they could not perform. Some waited too long to see the doctor. All arrived at the hospital too late. One did not return with the martins he loved to the churches of Krakow. One unspooled tire tracks in the snow like a long staff of sad music the night he drove away to try to no longer be a saint. Some turned out to be so evil they’ve been rewritten as monsters, devils, people I wish I had never met." I did not write this poem. The people in the poem have vanished amidst various shocks and upheavals. Yet, the poem itself is essentially about that very act of vanishing...Yet, the lines seemed to articulate my or perhaps our—own unspoken sentiments. Yes, I too have lost my kindred spirits, one by ...

S pain won the cup as the more deserving team. In contrast, Argentina appeared shattered and directionless; even Messi was nowhere to be found. I had hoped Messi would display his magic in the final match, but he could not. In reality, Messi's Argentina had already played their absolute best match of the tournament against England in the semi-final. There is no doubt that Messi himself is feeling the pain of this far more acutely than any of us. Congratulations to Spain. Argentina now faces the task of rebuilding the squad. I believe that no football team, let alone Argentina—could ever truly fill the void left by a player like Lionel Messi. Sending much love and best wishes to our beloved Messi. He has given so much to football fans over the years. Heroes create a legacy, and history cherishes it. Just as Lionel Messi’s legacy will remain in our memories—held in reverence and affection—history, too, will carefully preserve it. Farewell to a truly extraordinary magician of football...

D ear God, I ’m disturbing you—well, my mother says you listen to everyone, so you have to listen to me too. I often hear people say that you love the rich very much. If that’s true, then why did you send poor children like us to this world? And if you had to send us, why send us to a country as utterly poor as Bangladesh, God? People here are so strange. In the last two or three months, so many children have died of measles. I cried secretly for them. But look at the grown-ups—no one seems to care! They are always busy staring at their phones, watching funny videos, laughing, or taking pictures of their food. Even the uncles who write big books and stories haven't written a single line for those gone children. How can everyone be so heartless? I stayed silent back then, but after hearing about what happened to Ramisa, I am terrified. Tell me God, shouldn’t I be scared? No matter how much I talk, I’m only seven years old like Ramisa. Rahima Bua said a monster ate Ramisa. And she ...

  W hen people withdraw from protest out of fear, that fear no longer remains an individual’s private trembling. It slowly takes on a collective shape and settles heavily upon the chest of society. That society gradually becomes voiceless–mute. This muteness begins with the instinct to protect oneself from the state’s bloodshot gaze. An individual convinces themselves that silence is a shield, that hiding behind it ensures safety. Over time, what once felt logical only to a single person becomes the accepted logic of an entire community: staying silent is the sensible choice. As this mindset spreads from one to many, a convenient curtain falls over the injustices unfolding all around. The silent ones begin to think: “This is not my fight,” or “Why create enemies by protesting in hostile times? Better to stay quiet.” This attitude spreads like a domino effect. No one notices when morality is exiled. Those very voices that people once hoped would rise in protest become traders of pro...