The Octogenarian Labib Ahsan

That was the most outcast period of my life, in my opinion. The air around me was filled with buffeted wind. I hadn’t taken a breath of fresh air in a long time. Thousands of layers of complexity engulfed me completely. My life stood beside a vivid pit of darkness. Is there any satisfaction in the extreme swing between hope and despair?
Is there a consistent, soft flow of wind beneath us that comes to heal our heart wounds with his coldish touch? I didn’t think about this with a vigilantist mind. It might win in either case. Otherwise, why did the ocean of my heart become troubling through an unseen sublimation?
A paved pond gorge, a whizzed-by mosque, a necropolis, a permanent human abode, and a small piece of sky The night sky is dark; the sky is full of stars; the sky is alone; the sky is moonlit. I was there with a full sense of rapture, despite the fact that the distress was as tight as Mount Kilimanjaro. I went to sit at the edge of the pond at midnight. thinking deeply about the mystery of life.
A twittering from a bird nest on the other side of the pond rang out, and everyone took off at the same time. But it couldn’t shake my resolve, not even a little. I was absorbed in the deepest thinking. The mystery of life faded away as I accelerated.

Nothing appeared to be mysterious. The moonlight, the first light of dawn—everything follows a natural rule that is beyond mystery. Whose rules did we follow when we were born, grew up, matured, and experienced pleasure and pain? I tried to think about what is meant by pleasure and pain. My elaboration proceeded spontaneously.
When I went there, he existed. an enormously buttoned person. He hardly talked. I listened to him with fascination. The sign of an overwhelming personality bloomed on his face. It attacked me vigorously. His grey and white beard told me of a long life full of twists and turns.
He stayed alone in a mosque-attached room. The wet clothes he spackled to dry were carried away by the wind.He looked at that. I also looked there. Maybe he tried to find out about his past. But now I’m not sure which I was looking for.

One morning, I woke up and listened to the chaos outside my room. The sound of crying A paved pond gorge, a whizzed-by mosque, a necropolis, a permanent human abode, and a small piece of sky The night sky is dark; the sky is full of stars; the sky is alone; the sky is moonlit.
He had gone to the afterworld that morning. The arrangements for saying goodbye were being made. It is unethical to keep a dead body for an extended period of time. I stood up in front of his dead body. In the golden light of the morning, his beards glistened. He was sleeping peacefully. Suddenly I thought that, as if he were asking me, “Have you taken your food, my boy?”