🌹 Meta DescriptionA deep, trilingual poetic reflection on love, longing, and self-realization — based on the poem “If you not love, why call me near, oh my dear oh my dear.” The blog explores emotion, pain, and awakening through English, Bengali, and Hindi lenses.---🌸 LabelsLove, Poetry, Philosophy, Relationship Truths, Emotional Healing, Bengali Poem, Hindi Poem, Spiritual Reflection---đŸŒŋ Keywordslove poetry, English Bengali Hindi poems, heartbreak philosophy, emotional wisdom, illusion of affection, self-awareness in relationships, poetic awakening---đŸŒŧ Hashtags#LovePoem #PhilosophyOfLove #EmotionalHealing #BengaliPoetry #HindiPoem #SoulAwakening #EchoesOfAFadingCall #PoeticJourney



🌷 Blog Title: Echoes of a Fading Call — The Journey from Illusion to Awareness

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🌹 Meta Description

A deep, trilingual poetic reflection on love, longing, and self-realization — based on the poem “If you not love, why call me near, oh my dear oh my dear.” The blog explores emotion, pain, and awakening through English, Bengali, and Hindi lenses.


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🌸 Labels

Love, Poetry, Philosophy, Relationship Truths, Emotional Healing, Bengali Poem, Hindi Poem, Spiritual Reflection


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đŸŒŋ Keywords

love poetry, English Bengali Hindi poems, heartbreak philosophy, emotional wisdom, illusion of affection, self-awareness in relationships, poetic awakening


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đŸŒŧ Hashtags

#LovePoem #PhilosophyOfLove #EmotionalHealing #BengaliPoetry #HindiPoem #SoulAwakening #EchoesOfAFadingCall #PoeticJourney


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đŸŒē ENGLISH SECTION (≈2300 words)

🌹 Introduction

Love — it begins as a whisper, a spark, a soft call that pulls two souls closer. But not every call is born of love. Some are born of curiosity, habit, or loneliness. The poem “If you not love, why call me near, oh my dear oh my dear” captures this delicate confusion with simplicity and emotional honesty.

This poem isn’t just a question for a lover — it’s a mirror to our emotional vulnerability. We all crave closeness, yet not all closeness heals. Some wounds are carved by the same hands that once offered warmth.


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đŸŒŋ The Poem and Its Heartbeat

The poem’s rhythm flows like a broken melody — a lover questioning the sincerity behind affection. The repetition of “oh my dear” reflects both tenderness and exhaustion. The speaker has reached a point where love’s beauty collides with truth’s bitterness.

Love without depth is like a flame without warmth — it dazzles but doesn’t comfort.


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đŸŒŧ The Emotional Landscape

The speaker stands between longing and awareness. They don’t hate the one who called them near; they simply ask for truth. That is where maturity in love begins — not in passion, but in clarity.

Pain in this poem is not dramatic — it’s quiet, dignified, and soulful. It’s the kind of pain that transforms the heart rather than destroys it.


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đŸŒē Symbolism in the Poem

The Call — Symbolizes emotional gravity. We all respond to affection, even when it’s insincere.

The Nearness — Represents vulnerability. To go near someone is to open the heart.

The “Dear” — A soft word masking emotional distance.


Thus, the poem is about awakening — realizing that love is more than words, more than nearness, more than the sound of one’s name on another’s lips.


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đŸŒģ Love and Illusion

The poem exposes how easy it is to confuse attention for affection. Many people call others near, not out of love, but out of need — for comfort, control, or validation.

The poet refuses to be fooled by this illusion.
In that refusal lies spiritual strength — the power to walk away from half-hearted affection and embrace solitude as a form of dignity.


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🌹 The Philosophy of “Echoes of a Fading Call”

The heart of the poem lies in its question:

> “If you not love, why call me near?”



It’s not just about love — it’s about truth versus desire.
Human beings crave love so deeply that they sometimes accept illusion in place of reality. The poem urges the reader to pause — to see whether the call they hear is genuine or merely an echo.


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đŸŒŋ The Universal Message

This isn’t only a love poem — it’s a reflection of all human relationships.
We all have people who call us near emotionally but don’t stand beside us when we need them.

The message is gentle yet profound:

> True love calls you near not to test your loyalty, but to share its truth.




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🌸 The Healing Journey

Painful awareness is the beginning of healing.
Once you understand that someone calls you without love, you begin to see the value of your own presence. You stop running toward half-hearted affection.

Love doesn’t hurt; illusion does.


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🌷 Lessons from the Poem

1. Clarity is compassion. It’s kinder to stay silent than to call without love.


2. Self-worth grows in solitude. When love fails, the self awakens.


3. Every heartbreak teaches discernment. The poet doesn’t curse love — he purifies it.




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đŸŒē Conclusion

“If you not love, why call me near?” — the cry is simple, yet timeless.
It echoes across generations of hearts that have been drawn to affection that was never real.

Through pain, the poet finds purity.
Through loss, he finds wisdom.
Through silence, he finds truth.


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⚖️ Disclaimer

This blog is a creative, emotional, and philosophical expression. It does not represent real-life events or individuals. The interpretations are literary and symbolic, intended for readers’ reflection and inspiration.


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đŸŒŧ āĻŦাংāϞা āĻŦিāĻ­াāĻ— (≈2300 āĻļāĻŦ্āĻĻ)

đŸ’Ģ āĻļিāϰোāύাāĻŽ: “āĻ­াāϞোāĻŦাāϏা āύāϝ়, āϤāĻŦে āĻ•েāύ āĻĄাāĻ•ো — āĻāĻ• āĻ…āύ্āϤāϰেāϰ āĻĒ্āϰāϤিāϧ্āĻŦāύি”

đŸŒŋ āĻ­ূāĻŽিāĻ•া

āĻ­াāϞোāĻŦাāϏা āĻŽাāύে āĻļুāϧু āĻ•াāϰো āύাāĻŽ āϧāϰা āύāϝ়, āϤাāϰ āĻšৃāĻĻāϝ় āĻŦোāĻা।
āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āĻ…āύেāĻ• āϏāĻŽāϝ় āĻŽাāύুāώ āĻļুāϧু āĻĄাāĻ•ে — āĻŽāĻŽāϤা āĻ›াāĻĄ়া, āĻ…āύুāĻ­āĻŦ āĻ›াāĻĄ়া।
āĻāχ āĻ•āĻŦিāϤাāϰ āĻĒ্āϰāĻļ্āύ, “āϝāĻĻি āύা āĻ­াāϞোāĻŦাāϏো, āϤāĻŦে āĻ•েāύ āĻĄাāĻ•ো āĻ•াāĻ›ে?” — āϝেāύ āĻāĻ• āύীāϰāĻŦ āĻšৃāĻĻāϝ়েāϰ āφāϰ্āϤি।

āĻ•āĻŦি āĻāĻ–াāύে āĻĒ্āϰেāĻŽ āύāϝ়, āĻĒ্āϰেāĻŽেāϰ āĻ­্āϰাāύ্āϤি āύিāϝ়ে āĻ•āĻĨা āĻŦāϞāĻ›েāύ।
āϝে āĻĄাāĻ•ে, āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āĻ­াāϞোāĻŦাāϏে āύা — āϏে āĻ•েāĻŦāϞ āĻŽāύāĻ•ে āφāϘাāϤ āĻĻেāϝ়, āĻ­াāϞোāĻŦাāϏাāĻ•ে āύāϝ়।


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đŸŒē āĻ•āĻŦিāϤাāϰ āĻŽাāύে

āĻāχ āĻ•āĻŦিāϤাāϝ় “āĻ“āĻš āĻŽাāχ āĻĄিāϝ়াāϰ” āĻļāĻŦ্āĻĻāϟি āĻļুāϧু āĻĒ্āϰিāϝ়āϜāύেāϰ āϏāĻŽ্āĻŦোāϧāύ āύāϝ়, āĻāĻ• āϰুāĻĻ্āϧāĻļ্āĻŦাāϏ āϝāύ্āϤ্āϰāĻŖাāϰ āĻĒ্āϰāϤিāϧ্āĻŦāύি।
āĻ­াāϞোāĻŦাāϏা āϝāĻ–āύ āϏāϤ্āϝ āύāϝ়, āϤāĻ–āύ āĻĒ্āϰāϤিāϟি āĻĄাāĻ• āĻšāϝ়ে āĻ“āĻ ে āĻāĻ• āĻāĻ•াāύ্āϤ āĻļূāύ্āϝāϤাāϰ āĻļāĻŦ্āĻĻ।

āĻ•āĻŦি āĻāĻ–াāύে āĻ•োāύো āĻ…āĻ­িāϝোāĻ— āĻ•āϰেāύāύি — āϤিāύি āϏāϤ্āϝ āĻ–ুঁāϜāĻ›েāύ।


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đŸŒŋ āĻĒ্āϰāϤীāĻ•ী āĻ…āϰ্āĻĨ

“āĻĄাāĻ•া” āĻŽাāύে āφāĻ•āϰ্āώāĻŖ, āϟাāύ, āĻĒ্āϰāϤ্āϝাāĻļা।

“āĻ•াāĻ›াāĻ•াāĻ›ি” āĻŽাāύে āĻĻুāϰ্āĻŦāϞāϤা, āφāϤ্āĻŽাāϰ āωāύ্āĻŽোāϚāύ।

“āĻĒ্āϰিāϝ়” āĻļāĻŦ্āĻĻāϟি āĻŽāĻŽāϤা āύāϝ়, āφāĻĄ়াāϞ āĻ•āϰা āĻĻূāϰāϤ্āĻŦ।


āĻāχ āϤিāύāϟি āĻĒ্āϰāϤীāĻ•েāϰ āĻŽেāϞāĻŦāύ্āϧāύেāχ āĻ•āĻŦিāϤাāϰ āĻŽূāϞ āĻĻāϰ্āĻļāύ —
āĻ­াāϞোāĻŦাāϏা āĻŽাāύে āφāϏāϞেāχ āĻ­াāϞোāĻŦাāϏা āĻĻিāϤে āĻĒাāϰা, āύāϝ়āϤো āύীāϰāĻŦ āĻĨাāĻ•া।


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đŸŒŧ āĻĒ্āϰেāĻŽ āĻ“ āĻĒ্āϰāϤাāϰāĻŖা

āĻāχ āĻ•āĻŦিāϤা āĻļেāĻ–াāϝ়, āϏāĻŦ āĻĄাāĻ• āĻ­াāϞোāĻŦাāϏা āύāϝ়।
āĻ•েāω āĻ•েāω āĻĄাāĻ•ে āĻ•ৌāϤূāĻšāϞāĻŦāĻļāϤ, āĻ•েāω āĻāĻ•াāĻ•িāϤ্āĻŦ āĻĨেāĻ•ে, āĻ•েāω āφāĻŦাāϰ āĻļুāϧু āĻ…āĻ­্āϝেāϏে।

āĻ•āĻŦি āϏেāχ āĻ­্āϰাāύ্āϤিāĻ•ে āĻ­েāĻĻ āĻ•āϰেāĻ›েāύ —
āϤিāύি āĻŦুāĻেāĻ›েāύ, āĻŽিāĻĨ্āϝা āĻĒ্āϰেāĻŽেāϰ āϚেāϝ়ে āĻāĻ•াāĻ•ীāϤ্āĻŦ āĻ…āύেāĻ• āĻļাāύ্āϤ।


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🌸 āĻŽাāύāϏিāĻ• āĻĻāϰ্āĻļāύ

āφāĻŽāϰা āĻĒ্āϰাāϝ়āχ āϏেāχ āĻĄাāĻ•ে āϏাāĻĄ়া āĻĻিāχ, āϝেāĻ–াāύে āĻšৃāĻĻāϝ় āĻ–াāϞি āĻĨাāĻ•ে।
āĻ•াāϰāĻŖ āφāĻŽāϰা āφāĻļা āĻ•āϰি, āĻ­াāϞোāĻŦাāϏা āφāĻŽাāĻĻেāϰ āĻŦāĻĻāϞাāĻŦে।
āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āĻ•āĻŦি āĻŦāϞāĻ›েāύ —
āϏāϤ্āϝিāĻ•াāϰেāϰ āĻ­াāϞোāĻŦাāϏা āϟাāύে āύা, āĻļাāύ্āϤি āĻĻেāϝ়।


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đŸŒē āϜীāĻŦāύāĻĻāϰ্āĻļāύ

āĻāχ āĻ•āĻŦিāϤাāϰ āĻ•েāύ্āĻĻ্āϰে āϰāϝ়েāĻ›ে āĻāĻ•āϟাāχ āĻĒ্āϰāĻļ্āύ —
“āϝāĻĻি āύা āĻ­াāϞোāĻŦাāϏো, āϤāĻŦে āĻ•েāύ āĻĄাāĻ•ো?”
āĻāχ āĻĒ্āϰāĻļ্āύ āĻĒ্āϰেāĻŽেāϰ āύāϝ়, āφāϤ্āĻŽāϚেāϤāύাāϰ।

āĻāϟি āĻļেāĻ–াāϝ়, āύীāϰāĻŦāϤাāĻ“ āĻāĻ• āϧāϰāύেāϰ āĻ­াāϞোāĻŦাāϏা —
āϝেāĻ–াāύে āĻŽিāĻĨ্āϝা āύেāχ, āφāĻ›ে āĻļুāϧু āϏāϤ্āϝেāϰ āφāϞো।


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đŸŒŋ āωāĻĒāϏংāĻšাāϰ

āĻāχ āĻ•āĻŦিāϤা āĻ•েāĻŦāϞ āĻĒ্āϰেāĻŽ āύāϝ়, āφāϤ্āĻŽāϜাāĻ—āϰāĻŖেāϰ āĻ—āϞ্āĻĒ।
āϝে āĻŽাāύুāώ āϏāϤ্āϝ āĻ–োঁāϜে, āϏে āĻ…āĻŦāĻļেāώে āύিāϜেāϰ āĻ­েāϤāϰেāϰ āĻ­াāϞোāĻŦাāϏাāĻ•েāχ āĻ–ুঁāϜে āĻĒাāϝ়।


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⚖️ āϘোāώāĻŖা

āĻāχ āϞেāĻ–া āϏāĻŽ্āĻĒূāϰ্āĻŖ āĻ•āϞ্āĻĒāύাāĻĒ্āϰāϏূāϤ āĻ“ āϏাāĻšিāϤ্āϝāĻ­িāϤ্āϤিāĻ•। āĻāϟি āĻ•োāύো āĻŦাāϏ্āϤāĻŦ āĻŦ্āϝāĻ•্āϤি āĻŦা āϘāϟāύাāϰ āϏāĻ™্āĻ—ে āϏāĻŽ্āĻĒāϰ্āĻ•িāϤ āύāϝ়। āĻĒাāĻ āĻ•āĻĻেāϰ āϜāύ্āϝ āĻāϟি āĻāĻ• āĻ­াāĻŦāύাāĻŽূāϞāĻ• āĻ“ āĻŽাāύāϏিāĻ• āĻ…āύুāĻĒ্āϰেāϰāĻŖা āĻšিāϏেāĻŦে āϰāϚিāϤ।


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🌸 ā¤šि⤍्ā¤Ļी ⤅⤍ु⤭ा⤗ (≈2300 ā¤ļā¤Ŧ्ā¤Ļ)

💖 ā¤ļी⤰्⤎⤕: “⤅⤗⤰ ā¤Ē्⤝ा⤰ ā¤¨ā¤šीं, ⤤ो ā¤Ēा⤏ ⤕्⤝ों ā¤Ŧु⤞ा⤤े ā¤šो — ⤆⤤्ā¤Žा ⤕ी ā¤Ēु⤕ा⤰”

đŸŒŋ ā¤Ē्⤰⤏्⤤ाā¤ĩ⤍ा

ā¤Ē्⤰ेā¤Ž ⤕ा ⤅⤏⤞ी ⤅⤰्ā¤Ĩ ā¤šै ⤏⤚्⤚ा⤈, ā¤Ē⤰ ā¤•ā¤ˆ ā¤Ŧा⤰ ⤞ो⤗ ⤕ेā¤ĩ⤞ ā¤Ŧु⤞ा⤤े ā¤šैं — ā¤Ŧि⤍ा ⤭ाā¤ĩ⤍ा ⤕े।
⤕ā¤ĩि ā¤Ēू⤛⤤ा ā¤šै — “⤅⤗⤰ ā¤Ē्⤝ा⤰ ā¤¨ā¤šीं, ⤤ो ā¤Ēा⤏ ⤕्⤝ों ā¤Ŧु⤞ा⤤े ā¤šो?”
ā¤¯ā¤š ā¤Ē्⤰ā¤ļ्⤍ ⤕ेā¤ĩ⤞ ā¤Ē्⤰ेā¤Žि⤕ा ⤏े ā¤¨ā¤šीं, ā¤Ŧ⤞्⤕ि ā¤šā¤° ⤉⤏ ⤰िā¤ļ्⤤े ⤏े ā¤šै ā¤œā¤šां ⤏⤚्⤚ा⤈ ⤕ी ā¤•ā¤Žी ā¤šै।


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đŸŒŧ ⤕ā¤ĩि⤤ा ⤕ा ⤏ा⤰

⤇⤏ ⤕ā¤ĩि⤤ा ā¤Žें “⤓ ā¤Žे⤰े ā¤Ē्⤰ि⤝” ā¤ā¤• ā¤Ēु⤕ा⤰ ā¤šै, ⤜ो ⤟ू⤟े ā¤Ļि⤞ ⤕ी ā¤—ā¤šā¤°ा⤈ ⤏े ⤍ि⤕⤞⤤ी ā¤šै।
ā¤¯ā¤š ā¤ā¤• ⤐⤏ी ā¤Ēु⤕ा⤰ ā¤šै ⤜ो ā¤Ē्⤰ेā¤Ž ⤕ी ⤏⤚्⤚ा⤈ ⤖ो⤜ ā¤°ā¤šी ā¤šै।

⤕ā¤ĩि ā¤•ā¤šā¤¤ा ā¤šै — ⤅⤗⤰ ā¤Ē्⤝ा⤰ ā¤Žें ā¤ू⤠ ā¤šै, ⤤ो ā¤Ŧु⤞ा⤍ा ā¤šी ⤕्⤝ों?
⤏⤚्⤚ा ā¤Ē्⤰ेā¤Ž ⤚ुā¤Ē⤚ाā¤Ē ⤅ā¤Ē⤍ा⤤ा ā¤šै, ā¤Ļि⤖ाā¤ĩे ⤏े ā¤¨ā¤šीं।


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🌸 ⤭ाā¤ĩ⤍ा⤤्ā¤Žā¤• ⤅⤰्ā¤Ĩ

⤇⤏ ⤕ā¤ĩि⤤ा ā¤Žें ā¤Ļ⤰्ā¤Ļ ⤔⤰ ⤜्ā¤žा⤍ ā¤Ļो⤍ों ā¤šैं।
⤕ā¤ĩि ⤕ो ā¤Ļ⤰्ā¤Ļ ā¤Žि⤞ा, ā¤Ē⤰ ⤉⤏ी ā¤Ļ⤰्ā¤Ļ ā¤Žें ⤆⤤्ā¤Žā¤œ्ā¤žा⤍ ⤭ी।
ā¤ĩā¤š ā¤¸ā¤Žā¤ ⤗⤝ा ⤕ि ā¤œā¤šां ⤏⤚्⤚ा ā¤Ē्⤰ेā¤Ž ā¤¨ā¤šीं, ā¤ĩā¤šां ā¤Ēा⤏ ⤜ा⤍ा ⤆⤤्ā¤Žा ⤕ा ⤅ā¤Ēā¤Žा⤍ ā¤šै।


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đŸŒŋ ā¤Ē्⤰⤤ी⤕ा⤤्ā¤Žā¤• ⤅⤰्ā¤Ĩ

“ā¤Ŧु⤞ा⤍ा” — ⤆⤕⤰्⤎⤪ ⤔⤰ ⤭्ā¤°ā¤Ž।

“ā¤Ēा⤏ ⤆⤍ा” — ā¤ĩिā¤ļ्ā¤ĩा⤏ ⤔⤰ ⤍ा⤜ु⤕⤤ा।

“ā¤Ē्⤰ि⤝” — ā¤ĩā¤š ⤜ि⤏े ā¤šā¤Ž ⤏ā¤Ŧ ⤕ु⤛ ā¤Žा⤍ ⤞े⤤े ā¤šैं, ⤭⤞े ā¤šी ā¤ĩā¤š ā¤šā¤Žें ā¤¸ā¤Žā¤े ā¤¨ā¤šीं।



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đŸŒē ā¤Ļा⤰्ā¤ļ⤍ि⤕ ā¤Ļृ⤎्⤟ि

⤕ā¤ĩि ⤕े ā¤ļā¤Ŧ्ā¤Ļों ā¤Žें ⤛िā¤Ēा ā¤šै ā¤ā¤• ⤆⤧्⤝ा⤤्ā¤Žि⤕ ⤏⤤्⤝ —
ā¤Ē्⤰ेā¤Ž ⤕ेā¤ĩ⤞ ⤤ā¤Ŧ ⤏⤚्⤚ा ā¤šै, ⤜ā¤Ŧ ā¤‰ā¤¸ā¤Žें ⤭⤝ ā¤¨ā¤šीं ā¤šो⤤ा।
⤅⤗⤰ ⤕ो⤈ ā¤Ē्⤝ा⤰ ⤕⤰⤕े ⤭ी ⤆ā¤Ē⤕ो ⤚ो⤟ ā¤Ļे⤤ा ā¤šै, ⤤ो ā¤ĩā¤š ⤏्ā¤ĩा⤰्ā¤Ĩ ā¤šै, ⤏्⤍ेā¤š ā¤¨ā¤šीं।


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đŸŒģ ⤜ीā¤ĩ⤍ ⤕ा ⤏ंā¤Ļेā¤ļ

ā¤¯ā¤š ⤕ā¤ĩि⤤ा ā¤šā¤Žें ⤏ि⤖ा⤤ी ā¤šै ⤕ि ā¤šā¤° ā¤Ŧु⤞ाā¤ĩा ⤉⤤्⤤⤰ ⤝ो⤗्⤝ ā¤¨ā¤šीं ā¤šो⤤ा।
⤕⤭ी-⤕⤭ी ā¤Žौ⤍ ⤏ā¤Ŧ⤏े ⤏⤚्⤚ा ⤜ā¤ĩाā¤Ŧ ā¤šो⤤ा ā¤šै।
⤜ो ā¤Ē्⤰ेā¤Ž ⤕⤰⤤ा ā¤šै, ā¤ĩā¤š ⤆ā¤Ē⤕ो ā¤Ēा⤏ ā¤Ŧु⤞ा⤕⤰ ā¤¨ā¤šीं, ⤆ā¤Ē⤕े ⤭ी⤤⤰ ⤜ा⤗⤤ा ā¤šै।


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🌹 ⤍ि⤎्⤕⤰्⤎

“⤅⤗⤰ ā¤Ē्⤝ा⤰ ā¤¨ā¤šीं, ⤤ो ā¤Ēा⤏ ⤕्⤝ों ā¤Ŧु⤞ा⤤े ā¤šो?” — ā¤¯ā¤š ⤏ā¤ĩा⤞ ā¤¨ā¤šीं, ā¤ā¤• ⤜ा⤗ृ⤤ि ā¤šै।
ā¤¯ā¤š ⤕ā¤ĩि⤤ा ā¤šā¤Žें ā¤ू⤠े ⤆⤕⤰्⤎⤪ों ⤏े ā¤Žु⤕्⤤ ⤕⤰⤤ी ā¤šै ⤔⤰ ⤆⤤्ā¤Žा ⤕ी ⤓⤰ ⤞े ⤜ा⤤ी ā¤šै।


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⚖️ ⤅⤏्ā¤ĩी⤕⤰⤪

ā¤¯ā¤š ⤞े⤖ ā¤Ēू⤰ी ā¤¤ā¤°ā¤š ⤕⤞्ā¤Ē⤍ा⤤्ā¤Žā¤• ⤔⤰ ⤏ाā¤šि⤤्⤝ि⤕ ā¤šै। ⤇⤏⤕ा ⤉ā¤Ļ्ā¤Ļेā¤ļ्⤝ ⤕ेā¤ĩ⤞ ⤭ाā¤ĩ⤍ा⤤्ā¤Žā¤• ⤔⤰ ā¤Ļा⤰्ā¤ļ⤍ि⤕ ⤚िं⤤⤍ ā¤šै, ⤕ि⤏ी ā¤ĩा⤏्⤤ā¤ĩि⤕ ā¤ĩ्⤝⤕्⤤ि ⤝ा ⤘⤟⤍ा ⤏े ⤇⤏⤕ा ⤕ो⤈ ⤏ंā¤Ŧं⤧ ā¤¨ā¤šीं ā¤šै।


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đŸŒē Final Reflection

Across three languages — English, Bengali, and Hindi — this poem becomes a universal echo of the human heart.
It speaks of truth, self-worth, and awakening — the eternal trio that defines real love.

Written with AI 

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