Sick of speaking, sick of crying. Yes I am smiling but inside I am dying.
I wish I had someone who could have known me better than I do. But this is not the shit what it is, as I am nothing but “lonely”.
I feel lonely coz of what I am. But I do feel that my art takes birth when my loneliness becomes my companion...
When I take lives and deaths much personally and work when others play, অথবা when I meet myself and find that the truth of life is not the dream of tender age, then with all this darkness round me I feel less alone.