I want to write so many things but these days nothing I actually write . Here and there, this and that , autumn , spring , winter , day and night, I ponder upon . Sit quietly for sometime, and again fall for untrodden lanes , roaming in serene quiet woods, keeping that treasure of happiness in my mind , yes I'll write tomorrow something perfect and bright. But Alas! Days pass by and my drafts look half heartedly empty, sombre and futile. So many questions drift across my heart and mind , gradually dusk descends and night paints its black colour through the wide horizon where my soul , my glee , my pastures of solitude find a perfect padlet to scribe . Far away to that distant sky , when l stare , when l seek that lonely star, twinkling and blinking , I feel inspired . I shout so loudly. I feel happy ; universe , galaxy, milky way stand before me in unison . They create a huge space . No, no , not a void, it's a space of creation , a colossal canvas, a tapestry of myriad thoughts where my imagination can roam freely . I don't have to give excuses for that to that brutal society, where every now and then you are criticized .
My ocean of glee create ripples in my garden of poetry , where red roses bloom , petals unfurl , pollens burst, fragrance swings in zephyr, amalgamating humanity and love, diffusing far and wide their essence where only healing happens irrespective of caste, creed and religion.