Unmochoner Muhurte By Sunil Gangopadhyay. Ordhek Jibon By Sunil Gangopadhyay. Porokiya Prem by Sunil Gangopadhyay.
Rajbarir Rahasya by Sunil Gangopadhyay. Tin Nombor Chokh by Sunil Gangopadhyay. Purbo Poshchim by Sunil Gangopadhyay. Rohossomoy Vuter Golpo by Sunil Gangopadhyay. Prothom Alo by Sunil Gangopadhyay. Bhupal Rahasya by Sunil Gangopadhyay. Kalpanar Nayak By Sunil Gangopadhyay. Kalpanar Nayak is such a mind-blowing romantic novel book in the Bengali language. It is a must-read book for the readers, who like to read Sunil Gangopadhyay Novels Romantic.
Jubok Jubotira By Sunil Gangopadhyay. Jubok Jubotira is a fiction novel in Bengali literature. This book was authored by the famous Indian Bengali writer Sunil Gangopadhyay. This book Modhumoy By Sunil Gangopadhyay. Modhumoy is a Bengali language novel book in the Bengali literature.
The writer Sunil Gangopadhyay wrote this book. This book was first published Sunil Gangopadhyay Drama Novels. Hothat Dekha By Sunil Gangopadhyay. Hothat Dekha is a well-known drama genre book by the famous Bengali writer Sunil Gangopadhyay. This book is available here for free.
Hothat Dekha Buker Modhya Agun is such a captivating Bengali language romantic novel book. Sunil Gangopadhyay is a famed Bengali writer from India and who Chele Bari Fire Esheche is a trendy Bengali language novel book with a wonderful romantic story. Neera, sometimes, it seems you are more distant than even the day I was born. With ease I make a million flowers bloom, All at once I light up some suns, moons, stars, In a passing whim I blow out the moonlight This hand has touched Neera's face, could I use this hand to commit a sin, ever again?
In the late evening glow This golden figurine- oh dear, will she ceaselessly crumble away, In the night, in the sun, in the rain in the arms of another man? Her nipples two bared switches,- switches? Hands tremble at their touch. I once spat into the sea: no one saw me, no one knew— The froth of the impassioned waves swept away my spit. Yet sometimes I am embarrassed, after so many years I can hear the sea curse me.
On the mail train's body I once chalked a woman's profile: no one saw me, no one knew— in fact even the stars in her eyes were not there. Before the train could cross a single station, impassioned rains came— perhaps my sketch was washed away. Yet sometimes I am embarrassed, after so many years I can hear the mail train curse me. When I walk the road every day, do I trample its heart? When I catch a woman's nipple with my teeth, am I brutalising her?
Sipping wine on wintry mornings do I represent an exploitative class interest? Is it a sin to embrace Saraswati's idol in the first flush of adolescence?
I am still not sure about such things.
0コメント