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“Gaane Bhuban Bhoriye Debe,” a poignant Bengali song from the 1963 film Deya Neya, encapsulates the bittersweet journey of an artist whose dreams of filling the world with music are met with unforeseen challenges. The lyrics, penned by Gauriprasanna Mazumder and soulfully rendered by Shyamal Mitra, delve into themes of aspiration, disillusionment, and the ephemeral nature of artistic recognition.​

Immortalised on screen by the legendary Uttam Kumar, this song remains timeless. Uttam Kumar was the most loved and natural actor of Bengali cinema. His acting was effortless — as if he was living the role, not acting it. He could speak through his eyes, silence, and simple gestures.

He was called Mahanayak — The Great Hero — because no one else ruled the hearts of audiences like him.

In Deya Neya (1963), Uttam Kumar played Prasanta Kumar Roy, a rich young man who leaves home to follow his dream of music. Hiding his real identity, he becomes a singer and wins hearts — just like Uttam Kumar himself always did, both on screen and off.

This timeless song speaks not merely of music, but of mortality. It sings of every artist’s fragile dream: to fill the world with song, to leave behind a trace of their voice in a world too hurried to remember. But dreams bruise easily. Fame is a fickle guest. Audiences forget. Curtains fall. And in the end, the song that once echoed in every heart fades, softer than a sigh, unless love or memory chooses to hum it still.

This poem is inspired by that ache — the ache of singing even when no one listens, of giving even when nothing returns, of vanishing like all songs do… eventually.

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It dreamed to fill the skies with song,
To leave its music soft and long,
To live in hearts it never knew,
To bloom in lives it never grew.

It sang from morning until night,
With tired wings and fading light,
It sang when no one turned to hear,
It sang through joy, it sang through fear.

The days grew cold, the skies grew far,
The cheers grew faint like some distant star,
The name once golden, bright, and high,
Now fell unheard beneath the sky.

But still it sang, with gentle grace,
A song to kiss this lonely place,
A gift it left, a parting word,
A prayer wrapped inside a bird.

For songs are seeds the heart has sown,
They bloom in places never known,
They wait in shadows, soft and deep,
And wake in hearts they wish to keep.

Not every voice will find a name,
Not every heart will hold the same,
But those who sing with all they give,
In someone’s soul will always live.

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Perhaps songs are not meant to last forever in the world outside. Perhaps they are meant to live quietly inside someone, waiting for a quiet hour, waiting for a lonely heart; to rise again, like forgotten spring flowers, in a garden no one sees.

And perhaps that is enough; to sing, to give, to leave behind not fame or gold, but a little music in someone’s life… like a songbird that never truly leaves.

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