We may go mad; we may go sad; but we know it’s our love that makes us mad or sad; In despair, ‘go’ we may..., but go only unto the arms of each other, not away. “The voice of life in me cannot reach the ear of life in you, but let us talk that we may not feel lonely” (Khalil Gibran) and that’s the wisdom that will take us to fifty years of life or five hundred years of remembrance.... There is nothing too small or too big in what can be a love that marks the beauty of human race, just as how the sound of universe is captured in a sea shell...and so be this love the epitome of that beauty, a defeat of reality.
I searched around for the creations of God, from which what I can offer you that carries the pulse of my heart; everything is touched by everyone, and nothing is pure that I can offer you. Inside is a poem of love, but I don’t have the words to wrap them; inside is a song of care, but I don’t have the tune to breathe; in a book of love that you once gifted me, I kept a broken piece of peacock feather...one that you gave me in return for a pencil in school; in my treasure of collections is a petal of water lily from that good old Sunday morning, dry in time but fresh in memory ...
...wrapped in my love I offer them to you, for, only they are mine and the memories are ours.
I searched around for the creations of God, from which what I can offer you that carries the pulse of my heart; everything is touched by everyone, and nothing is pure that I can offer you. Inside is a poem of love, but I don’t have the words to wrap them; inside is a song of care, but I don’t have the tune to breathe; in a book of love that you once gifted me, I kept a broken piece of peacock feather...one that you gave me in return for a pencil in school; in my treasure of collections is a petal of water lily from that good old Sunday morning, dry in time but fresh in memory ...
...wrapped in my love I offer them to you, for, only they are mine and the memories are ours.
... from a fictional page of life...
