একলা স্টেশনে দাড়িয়ে ছিলে
“The Last Bench at Dusk”
At the edge of a forgotten field where time felt slower, two old benches stood beneath a sky ablaze with fire and dreams. The sun, melting into the horizon, painted the clouds in fierce orange, deep violet, and glowing gold. It was the kind of evening that made silence feel sacred.
This spot had once been a meeting place—where old friends laughed, lovers whispered promises, and solitary souls watched the world breathe. Now, it was quiet. Still. Waiting.
As birds soared overhead in V-shaped serenity, a soft breeze stirred the wild grass, and the earth seemed to exhale the day’s final breath. The sea beyond shimmered faintly, distant and eternal.
No one came this evening. But the benches didn’t mind. They had memory in their wood, patience in their bones. They were keepers of golden hours, witnesses to sunlit goodbyes..
