Hello friends how are you all?Hope you all great by the grace of almighty Allah. I am also doing great

Today I came to you with a short story, hope you all like it, cause i love to share story which made by me

There was a king in Durgeshgarh. Falling princes, sons are talented, people no longer salute with their hands on their heads. Yet people all over the country knew him as king.

The boys still look at the twin girl and say "Palt" in imitation of her when she just grew a mustache.

. Dan word almal 'n bietjie ouer, gaan universiteit toe. Tomboy kyk die meisie in die oë en sê: "Tum nehi samjhogi anjali, kuch kuch hota hai".

Toe gaan die pa van sommige van hulle ver weg. Vier mae by die huis. Die mark is onskatbaar.

Hulle hardloop van die een deur na die ander vir tienduisende werksgeleenthede. Hulle staar na Anjali se gelukkige foto op Facebook, en trek hul kake styf om die tienjarige te red.

Een oggend het die resultate uitgekom. Daar word gesien hoe die seun sy arms voor die kennisgewingbord sprei en sê:

Dan is almal eendag oud. Daar is trou, daar is huis, daar is tuktak naam. Maar seuns is nie mense nie.

Toe lewe kom, was die pad vir hulle versper. Hulle kan niks nuuts doen nie, hulle kan nie sê nie.

Nie in staat om te skryf sodat daar luide applous sou wees nie, sou twee mense kom en sê "Man, dan is jy nie klaar nie!"

Toe onthou hulle die verhaal van daardie koning van Durgeshgarh. Op 'n dag het die koning met sy arms uitgestrek op 'n lang brug gestaan ​​en om lewe geroep, maak nie saak wat nie.

"Har ghari badal rahi hai roop zindegi / chao hai kavi, kavi hai dhup zindegi ..." Hy het homself nie baie ernstig opgeneem nie, selfs nadat hy 'n koning geword het.

Al is hy 'n koning, breek hy homself keer op keer, sy woorde weerspieël die lewe van die grond. Tog het die man nooit aan iets anders as die koning gedink nie.

Dan onthou hulle, mense wil nie 'n ander persoon onthou nie. Hy wil regtig homself onthou.

In sy hardnekkige geheue is soveel as wat die antieke tyd sy eie is, soveel as wat ander mense baie persoonlik is.

Hierdie persoonlike man, sy geheue kan nooit die nuwe tyd, nuwe woorde vergeet nie.

Dan sit hulle koppe in die treinvenster en kyk na die rysvelde. Die wind gee ook. Teenwind Die trein ry 'n onbekende stasie binne.

’n Jong meisie hardloop verby die skare om die trein te haal. Mense met verslete, ou, rou hare het by die deur van die trein gestaan. Brei die hand uit.

"Banati hai yo tu / o yaade jaane het meer kab tak chale inhi me to meri / subah vi dhale shame dhale mausam dhale gesing"

Daar was 'n koning in Durgeshgarh. Niemand kon hom vergeet nie, selfs nadat hy probeer het. Hy is nie baie persoonlik nie
Then everyone gets a little older, goes to college. Tomboy looks the girl in the eye and says, "Tum nehi samjhogi anjali, kuch kuch hota hai".

Then the father of some of them went far away. Four stomachs at home. The market is priceless.

They are running from one door to another for tens of thousands of jobs. They stare at Anjali's happy picture on Facebook, and tighten their jaws to salvage the ten-year-old.

One morning the results came out. The boy is seen spreading his arms in front of the notice board, saying,

Then one day all of them are old. There is marriage, there is house, there is tuktak name. But boys are not human.

When life came, the road was blocked for them. They can't do anything new, they can't say.

Unable to write so that there would be loud applause, two people would come and say "Man, you are not finished then!"

Then they remembered the story of that king of Durgeshgarh. One day, the king stood on a long bridge with his arms outstretched and called for life, no matter what.

"Har ghari badal rahi hai roop zindegi / chao hai kavi, kavi hai dhup zindegi ..." He did not take himself very seriously even after becoming a king.

Even though he is a king, he breaks himself again and again, his words reflect the life of the soil. Yet the man never thought of anything but the king.

Then they remember, people don't want to remember another person. He really wants to remember himself.

In his stubborn memory, as much as the ancient time is his own, as much as other people are very personal.

This personal man, his memory can never forget the new time, new words.

Then they put their heads in the train window and look at the paddy fields. The wind gives too. Counter wind The train enters an unknown station.

A young girl runs past the crowd to catch the train. People with worn-out, old, raw hair stood at the door of the train. Extends the hand.

"Banati hai yo tu / o yaade jaane sang mere kab tak chale inhi me to meri / subah vi dhale shame dhale mausam dhale"

There was a king in Durgeshgarh. No one could forget him even after trying. He is not very personal.

My name is Rasma Akhter. My Stimit ID is @rasma I am a Bangladeshi also I am a student I am a ninth grader. I attend our local school.

Some of my hobbies.

I love to read books, love to garden and love to do art. Maybe not so good, but I like to do a lot. I have a flower garden and there are many flowers in that flower garden. I do very little art work because I didn't get it at that time. I try to do art when I have free time. Other times I work mostly in the garden. Because I like to water the trees and take care of the garden. So I spend more time there.

My Phone Details

Camera	SM j5
Type	Story & (photography)
Capture	@rasma
Location	BD(Bangladesh)

Thanks for visiting my post, also big thanks to those who read and support my post.