Writing is that folklore that records, refers, and rekindles life. It is that act of play where you are both the actor and the audience.
Beholding the sunrise, As I trace the ocean’s footprints on sands, The drenched shore slips from under my feet, Life becomes a delight. Trailing through the woods, As I listen to the rustling leaves that Share with me the recitals of the Summer, Life becomes a delight. Humming that old song, The forgotten lyrics of which I happen to effortlessly sing, Life becomes a delight. Looking out of the window,
I have this to say to my parents and gurus: Flowing through the air are the glowing ashes of my smoldering. If the smolders of karma be my destiny, then I am your echo. … Singing through the dark woods are the verses of this destiny. To make this song of life melodious, I am your echo. … Dancing before my eyes are the glories of tomorrow, If I am