i know I will always find myself less abled when it comes to just pour in ‘life’ on paper. it is so beautiful that the word beautiful itself is limiting it ‘life’. the word itself is not alive to just mend itself in different feelings, different colours, different angles, different depths, different horizons. It can not soak itself in different subtleties. The routine with which our surrounding is changing its colours . the serenity with which nature around us is expressing itself with no hesitation at all. The fact that while we are stuck in a struggle, nature around us is calm, ever present, ever vast, mysterious and completely oblivious of each and every petty intention and action of ours. The fact that it is all the time welcoming, calm and steady with its vigor and rage. How can all these things be expressed at the same time through words? How can sound of rain, smell of blossom, rage of thunder, curves of terrain, , vastness of sea be included in words?
dead words
