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The stars that connect the sky, 
the tides that weave the sea,
the pebbles that merge the shore,
the trees that mesh the forest,
the branches that link the trees, 
the leaves that entwine the branches,
the sun that lights the horizon,
the sky that paints the water,
the waters that survives the fish,
the fish that eats the seaweeds,
the seaweeds that carpets the rocks,
the rocks that protects the soil,
the soil that strengthens the roots,
the roots that keeps alive the trees, 
the trees that mesh the forest,
the forest that survives the big bears, leopards, and birds,
the birds that live on the worms,
the worms that protect the soil,
the soil that gives birth to crops,
the crops that survive the we,
the we that eat everything in this big, wild world,
the world in us is the world outside,
the outside that reflects the inside,
the inside that is abstract,
the abstract is opaque, yet translucent,
the translucence of the sun rays in a muddled dew drop at dawn,
the dawn that breaks the doom,
the doom that dwells within,
the within that is deep,
the deep that can just not be measure,
the measure of memory, 
the memories of the boundless inside out,
that inside out is what we call the universe.
For it is one, the one within.

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If you had missed the previous chapters of the story: Click here Chapter 1Chapter 2

CHAPTER 3


It was the fall again, they had gone for a stroll outside the university campus into the beautiful park where snowy trees surrounded the white spread and there were very few passers-by due to the freezing chill.
The two of them hovered around enjoying the beauty carpeted around them. Maureen had already gone down, working her gloved hands into the snowy layers. She started rolling a huge ice ball with a grin on her pink face. Steve looked at her dazed by the tinkle of her eyes and the jingle that her laughter spread in his heart.  The moist wind ruffled her blond hair, some of which fell onto her face like a wave onto the shores.
Steve just stood there with his hands folded, his lips curved into a mesmerizing smile and his eyebrows were arched in sheer amazement of what was happening to him that moment.   He felt…

Being humane

Every dawn dooms with wail


I never opine but in my daze,

For I am human, humane.

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Getting back to being Ms. Beautiful braid!

It was the time when my mom used to struggle for time. She would wake up early in the morning with her hair as beautifully braided as ever and I would be shook awake to have that traditional head massage with a mixture of hot coconut and castor oil with the extracts of sun-dried hibiscus, henna and fenugreek. After I sleepily shampoo my hair followed by the massage, my mom would pat it dry with a thin towel and would carefully part my hair into sections to try different types of braids on my curly but soft hair.

As she tamed my dense and curly hair into braids of every possible beauty, I would sit there bored with the palm of my hands supporting my cheek. In spite of lack of time, my mother made it a point to wake up ten minutes early everyday just to make time for the wonderful braids that her fingers weaved with my hair. After she finished with the styling, I would gaze at my own self in the mirror and brim at her with pride on my face.

I would say occasionally, "Maa, you can b…