For, what is it that poetry can do?
It could make tremble a single leaf of a tree among many, and make you its master
It could let you climb on clouds while you are on the ground and are finding your stand
When your heart aches and you find pain in others
But, here I am thinking something everyday which is out of my hold
This is not what I stand to correct,
I have learned to accept this like a disciplined child
Who only nods back to his teacher arms folded
Like a fleeting time my days pass by
My time was stuck. As I was scrolling through, I found you waiting to be accepted as my friend. I never knew that friendship could wait for anyone, at that time. Waiting to be accepted is diluted the moment I accept you.
Could we talk about a saint? What sort of clarification could I receive for my life? Has he known the world around me, any better? Does he stay in a different world and what separates us from the world which he lives in?