”In beauty we

        find  our 

        heart’s mirror,

        in colour we see

        our mood’s

         journey.”

                                   ” in communion we

                            strive

                         to find

                    tranquility in nature,

                    soul’s transcendence” 

   The poet is remembered not

      for his work,

      but for the print that

      people carry of his work.

          He creates a mirror world,

             lives  by its reflection,

            in love he dreams

            yet dies  in solitude

             It does not  matter how long

        you  are loved, you will

        be  forgotten much longer.

        ”    no matter how long

              you live

          you will be dead

          much longer.’

 It  was end less yet one could fathom it. She was somebody whom I have never seen , yet feel; her breath; around me ; I  won’t call it love nor infatuation. It was not even exstasy.  It was a cloudy afternoon  I received an anonymous mail that spoke little yet expressed more.
She wrote;   life around me is listless; I want to get away;  I am a caged bird when I try to fly  I bleed  . I  imagined she is that yellow bird , who radiates beauty but no body bothers whether she had grain in the morning . After some days   she sent me a cover , when I opened it I found dry rose petals inside, they looked faded yet they were red. It was long back, some ages back . The cover had post marks, no courier service then.    She used to send me flowers , scribbled notes ,I distinctly  remember her hand writing, those round letters. Never did she reveal her identity, she was my Shylock yet took nothing away from me, left behind glints of pain , pinching memory that releases  catharizes the base in me.  It was she who made me  empathetic to all little things in the world.                                Then after many many years my mobile rang , it was an wonder………