:((

I used to to go out with my bhaiya when I was a kid. He sat me on his bike, rode along the beautiful hilly alleys of Sylhet ... or we used to go for a walk ... and the world was ruled by Krishnachura-s then. With chilly touch of moisture in the air, our every step was met by fallen petals, the streets were covered by Red. Grabbing my bhaiyas fingers, I used to look up and smile. I learned to love Krishnachura. I learned to love Red.

And here I am, grown up, learned to walk alone ... and look what I am walking through. The streets are now covered by blood, of my own people, everywhere I look. The chills in the air scare me, the moisture reminds me of tears, and I kneel before any God you put before me, I embrace his or her knees, stop this bloodshed, let me love the Red again.