The Testament of Existence
One day, on the pale canvas of my body, I painted day on one side, night on the other— stood before it and called out: Dibyendu, are you home? Yesterday, I thought long and hard— I’ll outrun my shadow. But today, I sit still, exhausted, my face drowned in sadness. He came. Called my name. I rose, a bit proud, and said— Dibyendu, you? Now, at this hour? What’s so urgent, so necessary? In this house of life, the same dream circles back, word by word, threaded into new sentences, becomes a kind of context: the struggle to stay alive in a civilized shell, driven by desire— to live for every self within us. But inside, there’s just ash and silence. And on this lonely road, I keep dodging potholes by myself. Dibyendu, do you remember what you said last week? Everything I’ve done, all these years— you said it had no worth. And yet, you kept breathing the air of this Earth, carrying your tiny ego so far, alone. Where are your companions now? Your...