I weave Hibiscuses in your hair and Along with them I softly weave the strings of my I love you’s. Your eyes are closed as you soak in my touch and Your lips are pressed thin as if imprisoning yours.

My Bangla Sings out every morning One language Many songs

For educators: My go-to text on 1971 is Jahanara Imam’s Ekattorer Dinguli. It’s a deeply personal and powerful memoir that I believe every student should engage with to truly feel the emotional and human cost of the war. The way she documents her experiences, especially the loss of her son, is heart-wrenching and offers a perspective that transcends history—it becomes deeply relatable and unforgettable.

Nobel Prize-winning Canadian writer Alice Munro, whose exquisitely crafted tales of the loves, ambitions and travails of small-town women in her native land made her a globally acclaimed master of the short story, has died at the age of 92, her publisher said on Tuesday

Be a tree Get wet in sorrow’s shower and you’ll recover. From envy’s scorching sun gather strength

Umar stood in line with all the patience in the world. He could smell the anxiety and fear in the air. The room was filled with people once glorifying death and taking pride in solitude, now filled with panic in the face of reality.

What makes You a boy, me a girl; Me a popper, you an Earl?

Crimson blood splattered amongst the ravaged lands

An interesting concern in contemporary children’s literature criticism is the discussion of power. Do the fictive children in children’s books, conceived and delivered by the adult author, have the ability to exercise their will and possess a voice?

The dumpster diver and the plastic smoker raised their fists. I was in the solemn, trapped

Irish author Paul Lynch won the 2023 Booker Prize for fiction on Sunday for his novel "Prophet Song," a dystopian work about an Ireland that descends into tyranny

Being a woman comes to me naturally If not me, then who? I was never asked to be one I was never asked to cook

In some ways, Sharatchandra places the blame for Devdas's ensuing sorrow on his lack of courage, made all the more noticeable in comparison to Parbati's courage in breaking social norms despite the dire consequences it could have for her.

On the heart of a place where heather blossoms, Dreams of scattered bodies and burnt heath Against the walls where children live

Pressed between pages Of a heavy book, a rose-– Neither flourishes nor wilts.

500 years ago, Edmund Spenser wrote a poem to celebrate a wedding taking place beside the River Thames. Each stanza ends with the refrain: “Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song”.

An uncomfortable stillness emanated in the air around Rajpath road. I stood there with my suitcase in my hand, the hair on the back of my neck standing on edge. Glancing left then right, I crossed the road and entered the premises of Hotel Kaalipara.

It was another early sunset on a rainy day in Dhaka. Alamin was walking with a polythene bag of groceries back to his small, rented apartment.

Spacious, shiny, new roads are built in my city to rent them for raw-markets

I look in the mirror, and the tides start turning,