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Where the Bridge Still Sways

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Between Ranaghat skies and Chakdaha rain, Two wandering hearts forgot their pain, As if in silence fate once swore, “You’ve loved before… and will love more.” On that swaying bridge where rivers sigh, Where winds confess what lips feel shy, The Jhulonto Bridge held us that day… When truth slipped out and chose to stay. Your fingers trembled, locked in mine, Like roots that knew this love was divine, And in that swing of steel and air, Seven lifetimes whispered there. From shared headphones on rattling trains, To soft laughter in windowpane rains, One song, two souls, a rhythm we knew, Every lyric somehow sounded like you. Your home… it didn’t feel unknown, It wrapped me warm, it felt like my own, Your parents’ smiles, your cousins too… Loved me softly… because of you. Kolkata nights and glowing streets, Where chaos and calm somehow meets, A river launch, the city in glow, Your head on my chest, the tide moving slow. At Rockland Park in Kalyani’s breeze, You sat on my lap with reckless ...
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Not Me, Never Me

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
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Illusion of You

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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
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Where the Thunder Strikes

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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...
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A River That Learned Our Names

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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,...
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শিশিরে পুড়ে যাওয়া স্মৃতি

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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
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The Devil's Retribution

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In ashes of the love I knew,  a darker purpose took its hold,  betrayed by vows that weren't true,  I'd claim the hearts, both brave and bold. Each cheating woman brought to me,  would learn the price of their deceit,  in darkness they would come to see,  the pleasure found in my complete defeat. The first, a banker's polished wife,  who seduced her broker for the trade,  now knelt before me, stripped of life,  as my sadistic plans were made. "Your spreadsheets mean nothing here,"  I snarled, forcing her to bend,  "I'll chart your pain, your fear, your tear,"  as I my dark revenge would send. Her arse, so tight, so unprepared,  I took without a single care,  as she bent over, legs quite bared,  her screams of anguish filled the air. My hands, like claws, dug in her scalp,  as I forced deeper, claimed her whole,  her expensive haircut now a mess,  her dignity lost to my control. Her tits, I slapped ...
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