S'Clixora

S'Clixora S’Clixora - where pixels meet poetry. �

সব শব্দ থেমে গেলে, চাঁদের আলোই সবচেয়ে সুন্দর ভাষায় কথা বলে। 🖤
29/06/2026

সব শব্দ থেমে গেলে, চাঁদের আলোই সবচেয়ে সুন্দর ভাষায় কথা বলে। 🖤

প্রথম ছবিটা দেখে কি মনে হচ্ছে? ঝগড়া করতেছে তারা? তাই না?কিন্তু গল্প টা একটু ভিন্ন। গল্পটা দেখতে প্রতিটা ছবির Caption চেক...
26/06/2026

প্রথম ছবিটা দেখে কি মনে হচ্ছে?
ঝগড়া করতেছে তারা? তাই না?
কিন্তু গল্প টা একটু ভিন্ন। গল্পটা দেখতে প্রতিটা ছবির Caption চেক করুন।
ফিঙে পাখির খুনশুটি, যার সাক্ষী আকাশের ঐ চাঁদ আর আমি 🖤

আকাশ কাউকে আটকে রাখে না,শুধু সময় দেয়—কখন ডানা মেলবে, তা বুঝে নিতে।কেউ থেকে যায় স্মৃতির মতো,কেউ উড়ে যায় গল্প হয়ে। 🕊...
26/06/2026

আকাশ কাউকে আটকে রাখে না,
শুধু সময় দেয়—কখন ডানা মেলবে, তা বুঝে নিতে।
কেউ থেকে যায় স্মৃতির মতো,
কেউ উড়ে যায় গল্প হয়ে। 🕊️

- Random photography 🖤
10/06/2026

- Random photography 🖤

The night was unusually quiet. 🌙✨No wind, no sound — just tangled branches holding onto the darkness like old memories. ...
22/05/2026

The night was unusually quiet. 🌙✨

No wind, no sound — just tangled branches holding onto the darkness like old memories. In the middle of that silence, a small crescent moon appeared, trapped between the trees, as if the sky itself was trying to hide its feelings.

I stood there for a while, realizing how some people are exactly like that moon — glowing softly, yet hidden behind layers of pain, distance, and unspoken words.

And maybe that’s why certain nights feel heavier than others.
Because even the moon cannot always shine freely.

The sun was leaving quietly, no noise, no goodbye just a slow fade behind the restless palm leaves. It looked like the s...
19/04/2026

The sun was leaving quietly, no noise, no goodbye just a slow fade behind the restless palm leaves. It looked like the sky was holding on for a moment longer, as if it wasn’t ready to let go.

He stood there, watching… thinking how some endings are like this - beautiful, soft, and silent. No chaos, no closure. Just a warm glow that slowly disappears, leaving behind memories that still burn a little.

And maybe that’s the hardest part
not the ending itself, but how gently it happens…
like it was never meant to stay. 🌅

ঘরে ফেরার তাড়া !
19/04/2026

ঘরে ফেরার তাড়া !

16/04/2026

The Sentinel of the Silver Hour

The world below was a chaotic symphony of grinding metal and distant voices, but up here, among the skeletal reach of the branches, the air was still. The bird sat as a living shadow, a dark inkblot against the pale, monochromatic canvas of the evening.

It didn't seem to mind the industrial rhythm of the shutters closing nearby. Instead, it watched. It watched the light fade from the horizon, the way the tangled vines draped like lace over the sturdier limbs of its perch, and the way the wind whispered through the few leaves that remained.

For a few moments, the bird adjusted its weight, a small movement in a vast, still world. It wasn't waiting for a meal or seeking a mate; it was simply existing in that fragile space between day and night. It was the guardian of the "silver hour," the quiet witness to a day being tucked away, reminding anyone who looked up that even in the middle of the noise, there is always a place to be still.

The night felt heavier than usual.The city had already gone quiet, windows dimmed, conversations faded, and even the res...
16/04/2026

The night felt heavier than usual.

The city had already gone quiet, windows dimmed, conversations faded, and even the restless dogs seemed to have surrendered to sleep. Only a few streetlights stood awake, casting tired halos on the empty road. And above it all, a strange orange moon hung in the sky… not bright, not soft, just watching.

People in that neighborhood had a habit of closing their doors early. Not because of fear, but because of a feeling they couldn’t explain. On nights like this, when the moon turned that deep amber color, something always felt… unfinished.

In one of those dark buildings, a boy sat by the window, unable to sleep. He had been waiting for a message that never came. His phone lay silent beside him, its screen reflecting the same orange glow of the moon.

He looked up.

The moon didn’t feel distant tonight. It felt close. Too close. As if it had something to say.

He remembered a story his grandmother once told him ~
“Some nights, the moon turns orange to carry unspoken words. Words people were too afraid to say… regrets, confessions, goodbyes.”

The boy smiled faintly, though his chest felt tight.

“Then take mine too,” he whispered into the darkness.

A breeze passed through the narrow street, brushing against wires and walls, as if carrying something unseen. The streetlight flickered once. The moon stayed still - but somehow, it felt like it had heard him.

Far away, in another city, someone suddenly looked up at the same orange moon… with no idea why their heart felt a little heavier, and a little warmer, at the same time.

And the night moved on quiet, secretive,
keeping all the things people never said.

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