Dhakabooks

  A self-Letter Was I a servant of my past? Maybe,  But now I am happy that it didn’t last. Was my doings the reason of my ruin? Yes,  because I tried to chase an illusion. What did I lose? Doesn’t matter,  as long as I got rid of the bruise. Time flew so, I grew. Thousand pieces of thoughts renew. Wondering to know,  did make some truths my foe. Was so tangled with wrong expectations that misunderstood the reality narrations. But hey, those did create a person. Who drifted away for a while, to whom now I smile and thank for facing all those trails. Appreciate the fails, applaud for the gains. For whom I am happy and pray that his peace reigns. The WHOME I speak of is_____________ (Fill in the blank with own your name)  

  In a century where,         love is a construction of flirty words and attraction, missing respect and attention. Care is a default in a race between give and take. Compromise is a weight of only one side of the scale. Here lies are fluent and most accepted. Honesty is a product of high priced emotional currency. Intimacy is a game of audition of filling up gaps. Emotions are like waves of curiosity and wanders.            lightly trapped our mind where the wants of eyes beat the needs of hearts. A frame of virtual design decides our value in others eyes. Using of social media status is a preferred way to express feelings. We learned to be quiet and valiant to forget suffering. Our thoughts become an anchor of our grace, which we gradually let go.             a strangled loop of emptiness is the cursed war we fight. A fight of scattered thought is fought every day, every moment. Depression, emptiness, aloneness, desolation, seclusion are bottles served with empty glass. And qui