In the Mistry of existence makes me wonderstruck. Living, dying, or lost love. Like a dream that fades away on awaking…… life evolves from us sometimes….. suddenly… so suddenly we turn to a pot of ashes in our beloveds hands. Or left into 6 feet depth & width to be merged in earth.
My soul, traveling through… the paths of stress. really want to reach the meadows of tranquility
Know not from whom do I come from? Or where i am going
The poem written by mother