সূর্য যখন হুকে হলো গোপল

গোপলটি কখনও মঞ্চ ছিলনা

আমি 6 AM-এইসব crack asphalt-এর 上 sit korte—যখন East New York-এ sun rise hoi. Hoop sponsor korene na, rim fixed korene na. My sneakers er hole—tobu amra kheltechi. Scout ase ne, agent call korene na. Kebal: amra jara—kichu shomoy o dekhano.

Silence as Strategy

তারা toke bolaite ‘playground’ jeno park. Kintu amar block-e se therapy. Har dribble ekta sentence. Har shot, ekta prayer—pavement-er upor e whisper koreche permission bina. Keu amader story likhe na—karon amra matter korinona, kintu amra janbo meaning ke create korbo question bina.

Who Gets to Play?

NBA etai eto ase na—karon amra good enough chhilenamona, kintu amra already play kortechi alada vabe. Amader need contract—not need each other. When the sun hit just right—when shadows stretched long across the fence—that’s when you learned what it meant to be seen.

I’m not writing this for metrics or clicks. I’m writing it because someone somewhere needs to know: sometimes the quietest rise is the only one that lasts.