VOICE OF SOUL

The neon sign outside flickered through the glass, casting shadows against the wall of Hotel Raj Mahal, where we were hiding away. The air conditioning hummed a cold, sterile melody, fighting against the heat rising between us. You stood there, bathed in blue lingerie, a contrast of cool air and burning skin. I stepped close, breathing in the scent of your anticipation, and reached for the elastic of your panties. I slid the fabric down slowly, kissing the curve of your ass, my fingers tracing the lines of your thighs. I blindfolded you with the same fabric, leaving you in total darkness, trusting me to lead the way. Then, I bound your wrists with the silk straps of your bra, tying a tight knot that left your arms dangling. Your breath hitched, a soft moan escaping your lips as you surrendered to the ropes. I reached for the foil packet, tearing it open with a sharp snap. Inside, the 1740 extra dotted condoms glinted under the lamp light. We rolled it on, the latex tight against my ski...

Under the grey sky of Kolkata, by the silent rails of Prinsep Ghat, I stood not as your lover, just a witness to a love that wasn’t mine. You were crying… but not for me. Each tear you dropped, felt like concentrated H₂SO₄ on my skin not just burning, but dehydrating my existence, pulling every ounce of warmth out of my chest. I wanted to hold your hands, but they trembled for someone else. I wanted to be your home, but your heart still lived in his abandoned address. The Hooghly flowed quietly, like it knew this chemistry how something pure can still dissolve in the wrong solution. Your voice cracked his name, like a broken equilibrium, and I realized I was just a temporary reactant, never meant to be in your final product. That evening, Kolkata didn’t feel like a city it felt like a lab of pain, and I was the experiment that failed. Because loving you wasn’t just heartbreak it was corrosion. © NILOY SHOUVIC ROY

She was nothing but a “Bhrom”, a soft, addictive “Moho” I couldn’t escape. I carried her like a silent “Neshar Bojha”, thinking she was my only “Amar Shotto”, my lost “Purnota”. But all I hold now are torn pieces—“Shritir Chera Pata”, memories that bleed every time I turn the page. I gave her my pure “60s Love”, let her live inside my endless “Oniket Prantor”. And in return—she left me with “Dhushor Somoy”, where I learned the art of “Dukkho Bilash” alone. Now I stand still in my own “Obosthan”, while she drifts away like “Onno Groher Chand”. My sky holds a “Khoye Jawa Chaad”, dim, distant, never mine again. Still, a part of me whispers—“Jodi Abar”… But the truth cuts deeper than silence— “Tumi nei” would’ve been easier, because “Tumi chilena kokhonoi” hits different… © NILOY SHOUVIC ROY

Forty-second floor, window walls black as pitch, Outside the storm rages, a violent bitch. Lightning cracks, illuminating our stage, On this bed of purple velvet, locked in a cage. My six-foot frame towers over your slight form, Five-foot-four of trembling flesh, safe from the storm. But not from me. Not from the hurricane in my veins, Not from the fucking punishment that reigns. The first thunderclap, a deafening roar, I grab a fistful of your hair, slam you to the floor. No, not the floor, face down on the plush bed, "Ass up, you fucking whore," is all I've said. Your cunt is dripping, soaking through your lace, A desperate, slutty puddle all over the place. I tear the panties off, they rip like cheap cloth, Expose your swollen lips, I'll have them both. My dick is iron, veined and thick with rage, Ready to defile you, turn the page. I spread your ass cheeks wide, spit right on your hole, Then plunge my cock inside, to take control. The second boom of thunder shakes...

At Howrah’s rush, beneath iron breath and steam, I saw her first—my future, clear as dream. Time froze once, then shattered in a run, I reached her breathless, two hearts beating one. Her glasses caught the station’s yellow glow, My arms found home before my mind said so. Crowds dissolved, the platform slipped away, When I hugged her like I’d waited every day. From Howrah Ghat we crossed the river wide, The ferry hummed while Kolkata sighed. I took her bag, too heavy for her frame, Gave her mine—love learns sharing before its name. I held her close the whole slow-moving ride, Cold breeze kissed us, city lights replied. My lips met her forehead, soft and still, Hands entwined—time bent to our will. The Ganga shimmered, silver, deep, and true, “I love you” floated—me to her, her to me too. She fed me momos, laughter in her eyes, Simple food, holy hands, sweetest prize. At Bagbazar Ghat, a lone lamp stood, Witness to lips that finally understood. One kiss—gentle, shaking, perfectly right,...

মেঘের ভাঁজে ভাঁজে আটকে থাকে তোমার নামের নীল রোদ, দিনগুলো ধীরে হাঁটে চায়ের ধোঁয়ার ভেতর দিয়ে— যেখানে দু’জনের নীরবতা একসময় কথা বলতে শিখেছিল। ফেলে আসা স্পর্শগুলো এখনো জানালার ধারে বসে, মলিন নয়— শুধু সময়ের ধুলো লেগে আছে। হিসেব কষলে আজও গরমিল হয়, কে কাকে বেশি চেয়েছিল। যদি হঠাৎ আবার দেখা হয়ে যায়, ভুলে যেও না সেই অসমাপ্ত বিকেল, যেখানে অভিমান ছিল কিন্তু বিদায় লেখা হয়নি। আমি আজও দাঁড়িয়ে আছি একই প্রশ্নের পাশে— তুমি কি আমাকে চিনতে পারবে? জানি, তুমি এখন অন্য কারো স্বপ্নে, আর আমি দিশাহীন এক সুর— যার ঠিকানা নেই, তবু বাতাসে ভেসে বেড়ায়। মনখারাপের সুর মিশে গেছে দূরের ট্রেনের শব্দে, শুনতে পাও কি না জানি না, কিন্তু কবিতাটা এখনো তোমার জন্যই। শীতের কুয়াশায় লুকিয়ে রাখি ভেজা দু’চোখ, মুছে যাওয়া গল্পগুলো শিশির হয়ে ঝরে পড়ে রাতে। জমে থাকা কষ্টেরা আজ আর ভারী নয়— প্রেম হয়ে ধীরে ধীরে ফিরে যেতে চায়। যদি আবার দেখা হয় তোমার আর আমার, মনে রেখো— ভাঙা গল্পের মধ্যেও কিছু কবিতা  চিরকাল বেঁচে থাকে। © NILOY SHOUVIC ROY