Scribbling:
Tragedy of Wanderer:
“As the virgin sun-rays touched the skin in the early hours
of yet to bloom day of young winter, its warmth filling the heart with a joy inexpressible
in words and while I sit there watching it embrace me, another thought sneaks
through a corner in mind – same rays would be deflowered and robbed of their
warmth by the hands of harsh winter days soon, and then it would be only in
shades that It’s warm touch would remind me of a love, which was supposed to
melt me, but alas! Ended up freezing me; while I watch the flame of passion
diminish slowly in eclipse of oppressed dictates of fate. Only to sadden me even amidst
that joyous moment, I carry a part of its longing and desire to witness it one
more time brighter and warmer, I let myself burn in bits and pieces. I would
wait for November again.”
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