đđŋđđŋ:đđŋ“The Journey of a Worn-Out
Poem Title: “The Journey of a Worn-Out Bus”
Inside this creaking wooden floor,
Memories sleep, though wheels still roar.
Paint has peeled, and seats have torn,
Yet it carries lives from dusk till morn.
The driver hums, the road is long,
Each crack in steel holds a forgotten song.
A passage not of comfort’s grace,
But time and struggle etched in space.
The bus may falter, old and slow,
Yet it teaches what we seldom know—
That journeys count, not just the end,
And broken roads, too, can bend.
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Analysis (English):
This poem reflects the condition of the old bus in the image, symbolizing not just a vehicle but also the endurance of life. The cracked floorboards, faded paint, and broken seats become metaphors for human struggles and resilience. The bus, though aged and worn, still fulfills its duty of carrying passengers, teaching us that imperfection does not end usefulness. Life’s journey, too, is about persistence rather than perfection.
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āĻŦাংāϞা āĻāĻŦিāϤা: “āĻāĻ āĻĒুāϰāύো āĻŦাāϏেāϰ āϝাāϤ্āϰা”
āĻাāĻ েāϰ āĻŽেāĻেāϤে āĻ্āϞাāύ্āϤি āĻুāĻŽাā§,
āϤāĻŦু āĻাāĻা āĻুāϰে, āĻĒāĻĨāĻ āϏুāĻŽাā§।
āϰং āĻেāĻে āĻŽুāĻে, āĻেঁā§া āϤাāϰ āĻāϏāύ,
āϤāĻŦু āĻŦāĻšে āĻŽাāύুāώ āϏāĻাāϞ-āϏাঁāĻāύ।
āĻĄ্āϰাāĻāĻাāϰ āĻুāύāĻুāύ, āĻĒāĻĨ āĻšā§ āϞāĻŽ্āĻŦা,
āϞোāĻšাāϰ āĻĢাāĻāϞে āĻāĻŽে āĻীāĻŦāύেāϰ āĻাāύ।
āϏ্āĻŦāϏ্āϤি āύেāĻ āϤāĻŦু, āϝাāϤ্āϰাāϰ āĻাāĻĒ,
āϏāĻŽā§ āĻোāĻĻাāĻ āĻāϰে āϤাāϰ āĻŽাāύāĻিāϤ্āϰ।
āĻŦাāϏāĻা āϧীāϰে āĻāϞে, āĻ্āϞাāύ্āϤ–āĻĒুāϰāύো,
āϤāĻŦু āĻļেāĻাā§ āϏāϤ্āϝ, āĻোāĻĒāύ āĻ
āĻŽোāĻ—
āϝাāϤ্āϰাāĻ āĻŽুāĻ্āϝ, āĻāύ্āϤāĻŦ্āϝ āύā§,
āĻাāĻা āĻĒāĻĨāĻ āĻļেāώে āĻĻিāĻ āĻিāύিā§ে āĻĻেā§।
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āĻŦাংāϞা āĻŦিāĻļ্āϞেāώāĻŖ āĻ āĻĻāϰ্āĻļāύ:
āĻāĻŦিāϰ āĻāĻ āĻĒুāϰāύো āĻŦাāϏ āĻļুāϧু āĻāĻāĻি āϝাāύāĻŦাāĻšāύ āύā§, āĻŦāϰং āĻŽাāύুāώেāϰ āĻীāĻŦāύেāϰ āĻĒ্āϰāϤিāĻ্āĻāĻŦি। āĻĢাāĻা āĻŽেāĻে, āĻীāϰ্āĻŖ āĻāϏāύ āĻāĻŽাāĻĻেāϰ āĻĻৈāύāύ্āĻĻিāύ āϏংāĻ্āϰাāĻŽ āĻ āĻ্āώā§েāϰ āĻĒ্āϰāϤীāĻ। āĻŦাāϏ āϝেāĻŽāύ āĻাāĻাāĻোāϰা āĻšā§েāĻ āϤাāϰ āĻĻাā§িāϤ্āĻŦ āĻĒাāϞāύ āĻāϰে, āϤেāĻŽāύি āĻŽাāύুāώāĻ āϤাāϰ āĻ
āĻĒূāϰ্āĻŖāϤা āύিā§েāĻ āĻāĻিā§ে āĻāϞে। āĻীāĻŦāύ āύিāĻুঁāϤ āύā§, āĻিāύ্āϤু āĻāϞাāϰ āĻŽāϧ্āϝে āĻāĻে āĻāϏāϞ āϏāϤ্āϝ। āĻĻāϰ্āĻļāύেāϰ āĻĻিāĻ āĻĨেāĻে āĻāĻি āĻāĻŽাāĻĻেāϰ āĻļেāĻাā§— “āĻāύ্āϤāĻŦ্āϝ āύā§, āĻāϞাāϰ āĻĒāĻĨāĻ āĻীāĻŦāύেāϰ āĻŽূāϞ āĻļিāĻ্āώা।”
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āĻāĻĒāύি āĻাāĻāϞে āĻāĻŽি āĻāĻ āĻāĻŦিāϤাāĻে āĻāϰāĻ āĻĻাāϰ্āĻļāύিāĻ āĻāĻ্āĻিāĻে āϰূāĻĒ āĻĻিāϤে āĻĒাāϰি, āϝেāĻাāύে āĻŦাāϏāĻি āĻšāĻŦে āĻŽাāύুāώেāϰ “āĻ
āϏ্āϤিāϤ্āĻŦেāϰ āĻĒ্āϰāϤীāĻ”। āĻাāĻ āĻি āĻāĻŽি āϏেāĻি āϞিāĻে āĻĻিāĻ?
Poem Title: “Bus of Existence”
An old bus crawls on weary streets,
Carrying countless fading beats.
Its body cracked, its spirit worn,
Yet every dawn, it’s still reborn.
The seats recall forgotten pain,
The windows frame both loss and gain.
Each rattle, each uncertain bend,
Becomes a lesson—means, not end.
We too, like buses, rust and tire,
But breath keeps burning, a quiet fire.
Existence thrives, not in perfection,
But in movement—soul’s direction.
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Analysis (English, Philosophical):
The bus here becomes a metaphor for human existence. Just like the old vehicle, our bodies and lives wear down with time, yet we continue our journey. Every crack and every scar holds meaning, reminding us that life’s essence lies not in being flawless, but in continuing despite flaws. The bus is an allegory for the soul’s persistence, teaching that existence is not about reaching the destination but about living through the imperfect journey.
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āĻŦাংāϞা āĻāĻŦিāϤা: “āĻ
āϏ্āϤিāϤ্āĻŦেāϰ āĻŦাāϏ”
āĻ্āϞাāύ্āϤ āĻŦাāϏ āĻāϞে āϧূāϞোāĻŽাāĻা āĻĒāĻĨে,
āĻŦāĻšে āϏে āĻীāĻŦāύ āĻ্āώā§ে āϝাāĻā§া āϰāĻĨে।
āĻাāĻা āĻļāϰীāϰ, āĻ্āώā§ে āϝাāĻā§া āĻĒ্āϰাāĻŖ,
āϤāĻŦু āĻোāϰ āĻšāϞে āĻļুāϰু āύāϤুāύ āĻাāύ।
āĻāϏāύে āĻāĻŽে āĻāĻে āĻĻুঃāĻ–āϏ্āĻŽৃāϤি,
āĻাāύাāϞা āĻঁāĻে āĻšাāϰাāύো–āĻিāϤি।
āĻĒ্āϰāϤিāĻি āĻļāĻŦ্āĻĻ, āĻাঁāĻĒা āĻĒ্āϰāϤিāĻ্āώāĻŖ,
āĻļেāĻাā§ āĻāϞাāĻ āĻীāĻŦāύেāϰ āĻĒāĻ āύ।
āĻāĻŽāϰাāĻ āϤেāĻŽāύি āĻ্āώā§ে āϝাāĻ āϧীāϰে,
āϤāĻŦু āĻāĻুāύ āĻ্āĻŦāϞে āĻļ্āĻŦাāϏেāϰ āĻিā§ে।
āĻ
āϏ্āϤিāϤ্āĻŦ āĻিāĻে āĻĨাāĻে āύিāĻুঁāϤ āύā§,
āĻāϞাāϰ āĻĻিāĻেāĻ āĻāϤ্āĻŽাāϰ āĻā§।
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āĻŦাংāϞা āĻĻাāϰ্āĻļāύিāĻ āĻŦিāĻļ্āϞেāώāĻŖ:
āĻŦাāϏāĻি āĻāĻাāύে āĻেāĻŦāϞ āĻĒāϰিāĻŦāĻšāύেāϰ āϝāύ্āϤ্āϰ āύā§, āĻŦāϰং āĻŽাāύুāώেāϰ āĻ
āϏ্āϤিāϤ্āĻŦেāϰ āĻĒ্āϰāϤীāĻ। āĻļāϰীāϰ āϝেāĻŽāύ āĻ্āώā§ে āϝাā§, āϤেāĻŽāύি āĻŦাāϏেāϰ āĻাāĻ াāĻŽোāĻ āĻীāϰ্āĻŖ āĻšā§। āĻিāύ্āϤু āĻāϰ āĻŽāϧ্āϝ āĻĻিā§েāĻ āĻāϞāϤে āĻĨাāĻে āĻীāĻŦāύ। āĻĒ্āϰāϤিāĻি āĻĢাāĻāϞ āĻ āĻļāĻŦ্āĻĻ āĻāĻŽাāĻĻেāϰ āĻŽāύে āĻāϰিā§ে āĻĻেā§—āĻীāĻŦāύেāϰ āĻāϏāϞ āĻ
āϰ্āĻĨ āύিāĻুঁāϤ āĻšāĻā§াā§ āύā§, āĻŦāϰং āĻ
āϏāĻŽ্āĻĒূāϰ্āĻŖāϤাāϰ āĻŽāϧ্āϝ āĻĻিā§েāĻ āĻāĻিā§ে āϝাāĻā§াā§।
āĻāĻি āĻĻāϰ্āĻļāύীā§āĻাāĻŦে āĻŦāϞে—
đ “āĻ
āϏ্āϤিāϤ্āĻŦ āĻŽাāύে āĻāύ্āϤāĻŦ্āϝে āĻĒৌঁāĻাāύো āύā§, āĻŦāϰং āĻĒāĻĨ āĻāϞাāϰ āϧাāϰাāĻŦাāĻšিāĻāϤা।”
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