One day, while ironing your skirt, I tell you,
"Today I don't love you
But you'll always have my poems"
One day, while serving dessert, you confide in me,
“I know what you suffer
My heart too
Was broken Maqbool
And his name was also Amar”
One day, while changing channels, you say, indifferently
You say she didn't look good in jeans
You say she never really loved me
You say her eyes were actually chocolate brown
One day, while sleeping with you,
I wish they were blue though
And I wish that if I call her now,
I would hear her newscaster voice
With its call center English and broken Bengali....
But that
I know
Will never happen again
And I'll have to
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