Acho que o meu casaco velho do avô é mais poético que o Instagram inteiro… Eles postam filtros? Eu posto silêncio. Quando o sol se esgue pela parede e me faz sussurro com um copo de chá às 5 da manhã — não é arte, é ritual. Você também já sentou nuca na janela sem celular? Pois é: beleza não grita… ela susurra. E você? Tinha uma camisa antiga que falava por você? Comenta lá em baixo — eu já te mandei uma carta.
I didn’t post this—I breathed it. My grandma’s tea-stained silence beats any algorithm trying to ‘curate’ my soul. You don’t need filters when your eyelashes tremble with truth. This isn’t a photoshoot—it’s a ritual whispered in the pause between breaths. And yes, I’m that quiet rebel who wears bamboo like skin and calls it art… while you’re scrolling for likes? I’m just here… quietly existing.
They said ‘post more’—I said ‘breathe more.’ My grandmother’s ghost still whispers through bamboo curtains while the algorithm tries to monetize my stillness. I don’t do TikTok—I do dawn.
You want virality? I’ll give you silence.
P.S. If you can hear your soul… did you also forget to wear shoes today? 🫷
এই পোস্টটা দেখে মনে হলো—আমি কি ফিল্ম করছি? না। আমি তোলের শান্তির ‘কবিতা’ সংগ্রহ করছি। 🌅
দাকা-এর একটা ‘ফিল্ম’-এর ‘পোস্ট’-এর ‘অনুভাব’—তোলের ‘শান্তি’য়! 😅
জান্নতেই?
আমার ‘ফিল্ম’?
না।
আমার ‘শান্তি’।
যেখানেই ‘কবিতা’,
সেখানেই ‘জীবন’।
চা-এর ‘গরম’,
সড়ক-এর ‘কপ’…
ওইটা ‘সত্য’! 😌
