From Bengal's heart, with bittersweet ink,
I write of souls on the edge, on the brink.

Where monsoon's whispers softly fall,
And memories rise to gently call.

In shadows deep and sunlight's gleam,
I weave the threads of love and dream.

Each tale a song of ache and grace,
Of fleeting time and tender space.

Through silent tears and stolen sighs,
My stories live where sorrow lies.

If you wander here, take heart, take flight-
In every word, find lost delight.

- devjit