Upoma Aziz | The Daily Star
  • Upoma Aziz

  • City of Strangers

    Hello, dear old friend. Even after so many years you never fail to marvel me through your surprising change of attire at the transition from day to night. We are no longer strangers, not after the countless sleepless nights we shared, though sometimes I cannot help wishing

    I walk with my head hung low, my eyes fixated on the gravelly sidewalk, and though I don’t look, I can feel their gazes sting on my

    My dear Nightingale, today I set you free. This phrase I had repeated incessantly in my head without being able to voice it, and now that I have completed the feat, I regret my decision of not letting it out earlier.
  • Suit

    It was no longer crisp and glossy, nor was it pressed to absolute perfection. Its charcoal grey had washed away into a dull, tired version of itself, much like its owner.

    Perhaps it was forever scrunched into a few moments, or a few moments stretched to infinity; which one was true I didn't know, neither did it matter, all that mattered was now, or at least what seemed like the present – the vast endlessness laid out in front of me.