*Bijone Nijer Songe* (Alone with Oneself) is a remarkable travelogue. The author of this narrative belongs to that rare breed of global wanderers who flit from one continent to another?traveling from renowned metropolises to obscure towns. Whether on a voluntary excursion or an invited tour, he invariably carves out time amidst his professional engagements for a whimsical journey of his own?a solitary quest where he turns inward to discover himself. On this occasion, he has arrived in Medell?n?a lesser-known city in Colombia?at the invitation of a poetry reading event. This city bears a history inextricably intertwined with drugs, the mafia, and bloodshed. Yet, the author is astonished to witness hundreds of people gathering in such a city, solely to listen to poetry. During his flight to Colombia, the author encounters a woman of regal bearing. This middle-aged foreigner exudes an air of gentle, aristocratic pride in both her demeanor and speech; her name is Ileana. On the day of his departure from Medell?n?just moments before a bloody clash with the police?the author catches a fleeting glimpse of this silent heroine of his tale. Was that armed woman truly Ileana? Why did she find herself staring death in the face that day? Throughout his travels across the wilderness, the author has encountered countless rivers. The physical contours of the rivers, their waters, the people inhabiting their banks, the villages, the boatmen, the vessels, and the life-stories woven around them?all blend together to form this limpid narrative tapestry titled *Amader Chhoto Nodi* (Our Little River). As he journeys on?observing the world around him?the author forges a deep bond of friendship with these rivers. These waterways bear a fascinating array of names: Kapotaksha, Arial Khan, Bidya, Lidar, Purna, Jayanti, Bipasha, Dhanshiri! Among them, some are unadorned and simple, while others possess a mystical allure. Some are enveloped by endless jungles, while from the waters of others, a mist-like vapor seems to rise. One river might evoke the image of a gentle, serene woman, while another feels like a spirited youth brimming with vitality. If one river dances with abandon, another stands as the steadfast refrain of a poem. The author senses that the very warmth of his own body is mingled within the waters of rivers across many lands of the world. True love for a river is not forged merely through a passing glance, but through deep immersion. When one steps into its waters, the river itself reveals the mysterious saga of its existence upon the face of the earth.