garande home love somalia

I'm a reader from China. I really like this book and I want to ask the author some questions about the book. Can I have the author's email please?

Databricks

@quoted A Translation from Zahir Raihan by Tamanna Ferdous Preface: This is the first time I am putting an effort to translate the short story of Zahir Raihan. This is my humble effort to include all of you, to meet me and my two young minds who need to know about the liberation of Bangladesh but understand very little, about the ever-controlling protocol of the story telling about that subject matter. I wrote this so far. The story is available out there. If you would like to be excluded from this, please let me know. Thank you. Tamanna Ferdous Translation Crunch line of an inevitable Time Zahir Raihan Adaptation A prose poem (Experimental) Anecdote A few days ago, I went to a nearby front liner base camp, run by the freedom fighters, to collect information. The camp commander was busy like hell. At that busy moment, he gave me a notebook and said, "Have a seat. Read through this notebook. Let me finish a few tasks at hand. After that, I will have a chat with you." I took my hand out to take the notebook. A notebook, with a red cover on a binder. Dust, ink stains and greasy black spots darkened the paper space, and turned the pages filthy here and there. I opened the notebook. The handwriting was of a feminine type, with a salient persona, subtle along the written letters. A bit off-track doodling, here and there. I began reading. Silhouette, fallen on the occult pool of thought in liquidation In the beginning, it used to hurt, to see someone dying. For no good reason, it used to feel as a tenderness in aching. Perhaps it used to cause a trickling droplet of teardrop, even. Now, all these are much easier. Perhaps all these feelings are much easier. Perhaps these feelings are all blurry now, that is why. Death news spreads at a pace. Dead bodies are laid in rest. Oblivion within a blink of an eye, in the very next moment. I took the rifle to my shoulder and stepped up the little valley. I gazed upfront. An ever expanding sky. One fenced bed for the butternut squashes. A young squash was still hanging. The breeze was shaking the squash, with a subtle gush, off and on. Few paddy fields. Two palm trees. Another village, visible at a distance. News spread that they built their base camp there. One day, they belonged within us. We remained together, stayed together. Shared bed together. Dined together. Slept together. Gossiped around the same table. When necessity called by chance, we quarreled . We loved. Now, a wild rage runs through the blood if they are, still there, for the show. Eyesight soars in a blister. Hands, restless in a clueless surge of an emotion. A lunatic mayhem , an engrossing outcry, when I am able to shoot them. When blood runs wild in the killing spree. A manic laughter occupies me in the aftermath, when one in the enemy is down. Ruthless in hatred, I spit on the dead faces, dead bodies. There is a paddy field upfront. A few grazing cattle on the isle. One Goat. Noisy, in a continuous manner. A flock of birds flew over to a distant village. Something was apparently moving there. Skepticism, and I, Stood there, still, with a fixed gaze. A report to the camp commander followed there in the aftermath. “Sir, it seems that they will approach.” He was leaning forward on a map, laid in detail, upfront, a meticulous one, he. He looked up. A pair of reddish eyes. Devoid of sleep for the last two days. Too occupied a soul. He looked in the eyes. Asked, “ What is there that got you?” I responded, “ Perhaps I realized a movement.” He intervened. “ It is not. They are not supposed to progress before a couple days or two. Go and check closely.” Came back to my own spot. Pondering kept the continuity absorbed, undisturbed. At times, dizziness turned into an almost clutch. Sometimes, blurry vision disturbed. Perceived a fluke, perhaps, that is why. Even though, by the river Buri ganga, the launch terminal and the confined space of the rest area , I saw something, not to be a fluke. Heard that it sheltered many people. When I reached there, I saw nothing. I saw a lump of blood, on the floor, dense as a flan. Stains of boots. So many footsteps, barefooted. Smaller in dimensions. Larger in dimensions. Baby sizes. Some traces of maiden hair. Two fingers. One ring. Streaks of Blood stains, here and there. Black hued blood stains. Red hued blood stains. Human body parts, hands. Feet. Toes. Lump of blood on the floor, dense as a flan. A shard of a human skull. A fragment of a brain. The traces of foot steps on the slippery bloody surface. Quite a few streaks of blood, with smaller traces, with larger traces. Traces of blood. One letter. A wallet. A cotton towel. A pair of flip-flops. A few cookies. A frozen chunk of blood. One nose ring. One comb. Stains of boots. A white lace turned red in soaking blood. A hair pin to stick braided hair. A matchbox. There was a clear trace to drag a body, away. Dumped on a pool of blood, a bunch of bullets were lying scattered there, haphazardly. The adjacent draining pipeline was shut off. A pool of blood was clogged there, as if, a dumped affluent of an erupted volcano. I, a disclaimer patsy of time, was a witness, there. A panicked I, rushed to flee from there, within a breadth of breathing time. I was not a loner. Numerous, countless people, were there too, with me. Numerous people were rushing, for life, like a platoon of ant. (To be continued….)

@quoted (ভাবানুবাদ) পত্রমুকুলে নিবারণে আমায় নিয়ে , নি বারণ এ আমায় বার্ষিকীতে প্রান্তর যেথা মোদের নিয়ে উৎসবমুখর প্রজ্ঞা চেনায় ,শান্তি চেনায় ,শ্রদ্ধা চেনায়, প্রাজ্ঞ জনে , বান্ধব কোনো সমকালীন, নগর অভিমুখী, লোকালয় হতে সমাগমে উৎসবমুখর নৃত্যরত মুদ্রাভঙ্গী , "পত্রমুকুলে নিবারণে আমায় নিয়ে, নি বারণ এ আমায়" লাটিম ঘোরায়, তরুনাস্থি তারুন্যকাল,মুখর সেথা মূর্ছনাতে জানালা জুড়ে, শার্সী সেথায় ছায়া চেনায় , অপসৃয়মান মোমের আলো, দপদপিয়ে বহির্বাটির সারি সারি একসারিতে আলো ঝরে আলোয়ানে , বিনাসুতোর আঁকশী প্রহর , বিত্ত রাখী কষ্ট হলে , তুচ্ছ পেলে পড়শীরা সেথা সাঁঝবাতি তে আস্তিকতা , খ্রিস্টাব্দ নিয়ে বড়দিনের , আলোকনন্দন ওমাহা নগর সভ্যতারই প্রান্তবর্তী দিক্চক্রবাল , আকাশলীনা, তোমাতে লীন, প্রায় ম্রিয়মান গন্ধরাজে , তোমায় সাজে, গন্ধবকুল , রোদে, ঝাঁঝে , উতল হাওয়া আশৈশব সেথা শৈশব কুড়োই শৈশব কালীন খেলার ভেতর, ধুলোর ভেতর যা ছিল তা বৌচি নিয়ে , ছি করে তার বুড়ি ছোঁয়া , ছিবুড়ির স্বর হাটের দিনের খোরমা নিয়ে কটকটি সে , ফটফটিয়ে হাট বসেনি সে হাটখোলাতে, অনেক নেপথ্যে , মুখবন্ধে ভুট্টাক্ষেতে শনশনিয়ে দামাল বাতাস , চেনাতে এলে, চিনিয়ে গেলে ক্ষেতের খবর , নেপথ্য স্বর অন্তরাত্মা , খোলনলচের ভেতরবাড়ী , আমার পাড়ি, জমাদার এ দফাদারই , ঝাড়ুর বাড়ি ফেরো এইবার খ্রিস্টপূর্ব,তোমায় ডাকে, ডাক পাঠাবে জানতে চেয়ে খাম চায় তার ঈপ্সাকালে, সাগ্রহে তোমায় বকেয়া সালামে, ইশ্বরদী। Chanukah Lights Tonight By Steven Schneider Our annual prairie Chanukah party- latkes, kugel, cherry blintzes. Friends arrive from nearby towns and dance the twist to “Chanukah Lights Tonight,” spin like a dreidel to a klezmer hit. The candles flicker in the window. Outside, ponderosa pines are tied in red bows. If you squint, the neighbors’ Christmas lights look like the Omaha skyline. The smell of oil is in the air. We drift off to childhood where we spent our gelt on baseball cards and matinees, cream sodas and potato knishes. No delis in our neighborhood, only the wind howling over the crushed corn stalks. Inside, we try to sweep the darkness out, waiting for the Messiah to knock, wanting to know if he can join the party. Reprinted from “Prairie Air Show,” Talking River Publications, 2000, by permission of Steven Schneider. Poem copyright © 2000 by Steven Schneider ❤ www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/steven-schneider#tab-poems

@ quoted Life matters! There are so many strange salutations in Bangla, did you ever notice, there? Thou, Thee and they, there! So many strangers are in affluence in an estranged mannerism, in near and far! Why must this be so? Only this? You may go on with an eloquence, with your reverie, pleasant. The distant voice, unseen through the windowpane, aloof, a chirping bird, in harmony, attuned. What will be the name of the solitary bird, soaring high? And the lonely cloud, still indecisive, left alone, out there! Way beyond the scope of your whims, willy or con! There was never a moment to declare that there was a wish! A tragic hero will rise, She! Toward the Alaka, as the yearning of heartache foretold! Or there was a way to Parthenon to Athena! Did they tell? They...helpful? No. Not there. Not quite so. Suppose you have supplied a breath test sample, for a hospice care. To surmise the test result in the PM time And the entire morn took you away, in so many colors of vibrance! About the breath and the ranges, they all are within! All are they! Do you have repentance? Sadness? The grandiose of all! And to speak the truth is the most tragic levelling down, often so! To understand the stranger in a graveyard, beside your near and dear ones, also neutral, also there! And there is no reverie! None! God witnessed the suffering of the soul! The omnipotent one! He is the needless one! We all are meager there. Contemporary leadership. Contemporary mentorship imparted, none are eternal, happening throughout the station of Time! The aftermath of the feast of yesterday is a mere gossip of today, ridiculed, proclaimed. Yet, they do return! The birds of the eighth! And they plead! Allow us a holiday! My vulnerable pharynx and larynx! Gone are they! I questioned, "How so?" And all I understood that the Hindu translator. Of the Holy Quran has applied for a subpoena. to understand salutation in detail, with a counseling embassy And the Clairvoyance and the Pulpit, are mourners! Here in a silent majesty! Copyright © Tamanna Ferdous | Year Posted 2024💚💚💚 Final result : / @alinscuisine Anchored Lunch poem (MROY) : • Fady Joudah kzbin.info/www/bejne/a5PRpIh_f5qqgKc

I recently read their book and really enjoyed, especially the mother/daughter dynamic…I’ve read a lot of books about Vietnam, but this is the first and only one I’ve read that is contemporary. Harlan- You seem to have worked through your struggles (most of us do adolescence) and I’m happy for you. It was very touching when you leaned your head on your mom‘s shoulder while she was talking about something that was difficult for her.

The poem is lovely and AI is sickening.

I cant wait to hear and see what you have created.

There are black characters in Friends and Seinfeld, but perhaps Everett is asking, Why aren’t there prominent black characters in these iconic television shows from the 90s? And that’s an interesting question, but in some way, that would be to misunderstand the concepts of those shows. Taika Waititi says it’s unrealistic for every friend group to have friends of all colors, and that’s true. Culturally, times were different. A stronger case could be made that non-residents of the US see being American as being anglo, straight, middle class, etc. That is due to the representation of a single class of people in pop culture, which is the system of Americanization that, as a result, perpetuates notions of white supremacy. As Junot Diaz claims, you can take all the white people in the world and ship them to a different planet, and white supremacy would still exist: that is interesting as it is problematic and worth talking about-not for a supposed lack in diversity of old sitcoms. “James”, by the way, was brilliant.

Recently discovered this gentleman. He is such an inspiration to me. The way he articulates himself is out of this world. 🇿🇦🇿🇦

Thank you for sharing your story. My heart goes out to you and your family in the difficult circumstances that you live on a daily basis. The choice of either being free and separated from your family or being with family but under constant domination of men and a belief system are incredibly difficult. So unfair. As an American I have a belief of what I think is fair, what is right and wrong. Your story teaches me how little I understand about the world. Also how little I take advantage of the daily opportunities around me. Thank you for sharing your journey. I thank the co-author as well. Very well written. I could feel the ups and downs of Sola and her life. I understand a little better the struggle of the people of Afghanistan. What a seemingly impossible situation.

MILITARY'S OFTEN'NOT ON'INSURGENCIES IMMEDIATE'INTINUEAREY\THEM'NOT EX'PECTING THIER'LEVERAGEING\RAD'ENOUGH UPSET'HIGHERUPS CERIMONIAL'BEVERAGEING\LEAD'DOWN TOO'HUMAMITYS DISPAIRING'S\ATTRACTING'FAME POET'S SLAY'ING LAME'S\SEED'ING TAME'S EMPTY'OF FLAME'S\NONE BEING'NONDEFERENTIAL\EMPTY'OF HALF'TACKY LOW'POTENTIAL\ANTI'VENCIAL LEADER'FIDENTIAL\OFF'OVE DAME'S '

🇵🇷GOOD JOB men

I'm a young-at-heart reader who thoroughly enjoyed this book. Abi Daré's writing is so engaging and Adjoa Andoh's narration performance is excellent. I didn't want the book to end!

Estoy leyendo tu libro ime veo ahí

This is telling of the south asian culture in general as well. But as Prachi says it’s also very true of immigrants, they wouldn’t leave everything they knew and leave their country in search of happiness if they felt love and warmth in their own country with their own families.

You also firmly believed Kenneth Coleman was innocent, criticizing the prosecutors. You were deceived and were dead wrong when the DNA came back proving he was 1 and 19 million, the source. 99% of all inmates, especially, death row, are going to deny their guilt. 99% are liars and guilty criminals.

"I am successful, and intelligent and educated..." and self-aggrandizing, cocky, arrogant and quite self-involved. And by the way, intelligent people usually don't think they're intelligent.

#Somalicowboy thanks

Amazing summary! I must read it as a child of refugees from El Salvador

I've just finished reading it and I loved every single bit. I must say that even our cultural backgrounds are so different- me from Argentina and Adunni, from Nigeria I did find many things resonating in my soul: a loving mother who taught her daughter the values of education, the resolution to pursue a teaching career no matter what, the resilience it takes to overcome many obstacles (there are so many Adunnis everywhere in the world!) and the sisterhood of those women who understand suffering and feel empathy and reach out to other women, embracing and soothing them. Thanks Ms Daré for that 'talk' to your daugher- what triggered you to write this wonderful novel. Highly indebted for so much beauty and truth your wrote there.

This guy is a grifting loser.

And now Boston University wants to know where the 30 million for the anti rascism center went to. Actually it's not merely about his 30 million dollar treasure misisng, he made the gospel dissappear. Ibrim wrote anther book 'Anti Racists OPPOSE Savior theology" Let's be real. Let's be honest. You have to be illiterate or ignorant to read the Bible and say Jesus didn't come as a savior from sin. Ibrim is a false teacher and distracts form the true gospel. And other so called Reverands like Rev Senator Warnock or Cornell West who are also Liberation theology adherents don't raise an objection and wrongly see Jesus through a lens of politics as a rescuer form political oppression and not a savior from sin.

Heart wrenching story if you can read between the lines of his innocence.

It really says something about Asian American invisibility, how few views these videos get. Jay Caspian Kang is one of the foremost Asian American public intellectuals, and when you search his name on KZbin you see more Jordan Peterson videos than actual Jay Caspian Kang videos. "The Loneliest Americans" indeed.

kzbin.info/www/bejne/jYrafamij6p3gJY

great insight

Que poder de convencimiento con 2 hombres de la madre

WOW! God turns it all around for your good! Romans 8:28 / Gen 50:20

THANK YOU

Abdi Nor Iftin first fell in love with America from afar. As a child, he learned English by listening to American pop and watching action films starring Arnold Schwarzenegger. When U.S. marines landed in Mogadishu to take on the warlords, Abdi cheered the arrival of these Americans, who seemed as heroic as those of the movies.

Amazing book!

How can Kendi give a conference on how to be an Anti-racist when he is a racist? Is this supposed to be an oxymoron?

Bright young man!

I just finished your book and absolutely loved it. It is hopeful, spirited, and inspirational not to mention funny and kind. I will recommend it to all my “reader” friends.

Kendi lives in his own dreamworld. In real life, all of the richest groups in America are non-white. Kendi's 'anti-racism' really means 'anti-white'.

This buffoon actually thinks Roger Keith Coleman was innocent

My last name is FYE. What is this FYE name of the company they are using & what is the acronym is for? 🤔 Man, how litigious is that? 😆

Just finished reading your book Abi. So very good. Thanks for writing it.

Ms Wong has put together one of the most poignant, brilliantly constructed memoirs. As you read the vignettes, the feels & reflections illustrated by Ms Wong take you in. None of it feels external, it’s all very relatable. Fantastically written.

Love his book!

Mr. Gerald is a wonderful speaker and a remarkable man. I hope that he achieves great things in his life!

My second listen to this wonderful book. Thanks to your daughter for not wanting to assist in emptying the dishwasher, otherwise, we the readers, would not have had the profound pleasure, of reading such a heartfelt, written book. Thank you, Abi Daré

Race hustler.

Wow you are such an amazing speaker and writer...God has really blessed you in so many areas...I'm.so sorry about your momma...she's very proud if you today without a doubt ❤

1984 double speak - you are either racist or not racist, in which case you are racist (by being not racist) Can someone stick his book in the memory hole (preferably why he is holding onto it

so inspirational 🦅🇺🇸🦅🦅🦅🦅🇺🇸🦅🇺🇸🦅🦅🦅🦅🇺🇸🦅🦅🦅🇺🇸🦅🦅🦅🇺🇸🦅

kzbin.info/www/bejne/pHbMimWpfZumotk 1619 project is a great discussion also for those interested in Bible prophecy. Excellent book by the way

Why are you so infamously know to help so many, but...you are going to grant this man and his wife a ok. If you never knew him, you might of been one of those people. The new tv series could be great, but Tom's fortune came up. Then the TV series dropped. It was great too. You could of come up from that. Now you look like Erica, no conscious empathy. Oh.... wow suddenly the movie Erin Brocovitch, people believed in you. But now, you have proved you, at once wanted right, now you are the villan. You got your money, and would not give up anything to make those people right like Erika.