Beghazaled

I look very pissed off, almost always, perhaps that's the way I was sculptured by Goddie. Ever seen a jungle-babbler? No? Well, no sweat ... come and meet me some time.

But today my mood matched my look, a sort of mood-look handshaking, you might say. Couldn't sleep sound, was late to office, drank a shitty cup of tea, and had to race to Narayangunj to one of my projects. And damn, the sun had some extra shines today, I almost got a sunstroke. With dry lips and sweaty shirts, I saw myself in a power house that reeks of welding iron.

Being pissed off is better than being pissed on, I admit, and being on the better side I finished my tiring session of instruction, and took the bus back. Under that bloody soléil du mijour everything looked scorched and torched, and what more, there was even a traffic jam now. Wasn't that a perfect weather to use that sweet four letters starting with F?

Swallowing all the irritation and literally, agony, I got back to my office. Well, I don't know why, but the afternoon always reminds me of Ghazals, if I'm fed and cool. After getting a bit cooler, and having lunch (just a tiny crunch-munch), the day seemed not so ugly as it used to be some hours before. I sat in front of my pc and started to hum the ghazal paroles.

This one is one of my favourites:

Now that we got parted ... perhaps, will meet again in our dreams
just like we come across the dried petals of flower ... in a book ...

You're not a god, and nor my love like angels
both of us being human, why do we meet monsters?

In the world full of sorrow, confide your pangs in some friend
as the Intoxication grows when a drunkard meets another.


Ah, times up. Bingo! I'll be packing up now, and be speeding home, and be humming some other freaking ghazals. It's the time you feel like Dorothy from Wizard of Oz, "There's no other place like Home!"