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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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To write is to dwell

FEBRUARY 15th, 2012





















What writing means to me...

As lonely as a cloud, as boring as boredom itself, I was. I grew up as a typical child at school but a very hefty one, I am still the same. I managed to cheer people with my innocence but did not manage to make happy friends to last a lifetime because of my gross physique. I couldn't play as I had no playmates at home and my only hobby was to sit and watch tv.

When I was studying in kindergarten, I used to visit a nearby shop with my dad. My dad was busy shopping for groceries and I engaged myself in observing things around me. The people who had mixed emotions that outshone on their faces, an old man cycling with a lot of strain, probably getting back home, the lady vendor with her dirty saree pinned up to her waist and squatting on the floor, selling vegetables, the autowala bargaining with his potential customer, the green trees which arched high with its countless leaves, the flowers that smile at me on the road side, happy child…