Think, I’m taking my mother … No, not too far! This is, in this Dhaka city. Mother and I’m riding on a rickshaw. Green sarees on the mother’s face The red color of the mother’s forehead. Mother is my country of Bangladesh Talking to her mother, she said, ‘Wow, you have learned to think a lot of heavy weight at a young age!’
Mom does not know, I can think a lot more if I’m young. As everyone walks like this on the streets, I know it’s wrong. I know everyone will have to follow the traffic laws. Walk-through roads will have to cross the road. Or when I get out of the road, I have to look right and left. I know that by holding my hand, I crossed the road like this. But I see many, without looking at any direction, talking to the phone, the road is crossed.
The streets of the streets who are on the road are crazy about how crazy they are. They come out, come out of the shawl. They are very busy to pick up people. They behave so bizarre that Momtaj Aunti sang them. He said, ‘friend you are a local bus, cuddle in the house and loving your neck!’ That means, the use of buses is very bad, it can be understood. Which I understand, Mamtaj understands, a lot of people understand the road, that big people do not understand. They do not say anything to them. When we say something, we say, ‘you are small, you understand! You’re silent! ‘Eprothomalo
We are silent. Let’s see the strange weird works of older people. The trunk is so weird that sometimes we laugh, but sometimes our eyes get water. The service pushed Farai to a bus in our school. We all took him to the hospital and took him to the hospital. After seeing the trouble, we got water in our eyes. But how are our sons laughing when they hear the pain of others? The smell of our chest bleeding came after he smiled. When we say something, the elders say, ‘Oh, be silent! You have no school! Go to school! ‘
So we do not say anything else. I do not say When I go out of my mother’s hand while walking on a rickshaw, I do not want to say anything when I go to the helm. I think, just looking at the mother’s face. But while looking, I suddenly noticed that a bus from the distance was running away from the hay ray ray ray ray in front of us. Looking back, we saw two more buses – running with each other! And do not come to come, a bus, our rickshaw gave a push!
Mother kept me firmly, but my mother fell down. The blood split in the forehead of his mother. Green sari became red. Buses like the robbers are doing ray ray rays. The mother’s face was completely dry after the fear of Large people are far away. They are moving far and away.
Mother’s forehead blood, fear of the mother … yet am I silent?
No, I said to my mother, ‘Do not be afraid, mother.’ I stood in front of those hay ray rayed buses. What is the trunk! Hundreds of children like me run away with me. The robbers look at us and look at how many eyes are raging. Over and over again on our chests wanted to take their wheels away. But our numbers continued to grow. They all said together, ‘We can not see our mother wounded!’ We want to keep our mother safe! ‘The storm came, the rain came, the villagers like the rock, but we did not remove from our place. Mother said repeatedly, ‘Do not be afraid mother! Do not be scared! We are! We are ours! ‘
Rabindranath Tagore’s ‘Birpurush’ poetry is our memo. We used to read the lines from there-
When fighting with so many people
Do you think that Khoka is dead?
I then blew the blood
They say, ‘The fight has stopped.’
You heard from the palki
Touched me, took me to the lap.
Say, ‘Fate was with Khoka,
If not, what would be the problem! ‘