For wounded soldiers rarely feel, Of throbbing hearts and broken skin.

Not even the asters accepting your gaze.

I would remember a face like this if I had seen it around.

I am a photo of a person, printed in black and white, in a newspaper.

One-quarter grilled chicken. Naan. And a hell of a story.

One day I was playing cricket with my friends near a field of my house. That day the game was exciting and fun-filled but unfortunately it started raining, we had to stop playing and we took shelter under a tree.

The third death anniversary of prolific author, dramatist, screenwriter, playwright and filmmaker Humayun Ahmed, who mesmerised his fans with his strong works for four decades, is observed amid unabated downfall all the day.