My life is a book...
A book so strange, so deep...
Sometimes beyond my comprehension,
Sometimes completely on my disposition.
I keep turning the pages with a feeling that has been known for ages,
But yet is unknown...hope.
With each turn I find new characters and see the end of many...
With each turn I discover a new feeling and see the end of many. With each turn I lose & wid each turn I gain...
With each turn I laugh with a new pain..
Yes, such is the book...
Its pages are woven...not with fibres of the everlasting trees...
But with the transient beauties like love, laughter & memories.....
Few pages are scribbled & few are left blank...
I don't know what to do with them...
May be add on or maybe move on...
The scribbled & torn ones remind me of the blade which once pierced my heart...
The pain was deadly, fatal...yet, there seemed to be no death...
I still remember the pain..I still feel the pain...
It was like a sword slitting your veins...a dagger cutting your ribs & an axe chopping your bones...
Yet there was one difference...
The body was completely fine,
The soul underwent all the pain...
And so the ink, a part of the flowing soul, scribbled the pages hard...tearing it to pieces...
But still the book continued coz it was a tough one...
It still continues...knowing there maybe many swords & daggers ahead...but still brave it was to also know there will be smiles & beautiful bonds ahead...
The bonds which give us a strength called hope & their smiles which warm our heart on the whole...
None wants the end of dis book...
Yet one day it ends,
Leaving us all silent...