Letter to our thoughts
It was the times of the lakes, the trees overlooking the waters and thinking well where has that red fish gone today? When the grasses are telling stories to each other and giggling at the birds who are snoozing in the branches, yawning in the raining morning rays from the bored sun who thinks well, life is sooo monotonous...the boys are walking towards their schools some pelting stones at the innocent quiet waters of the lake and yelling out wishes of the bouncing stone which they might visualise in the afternoon breaks...the clay road is thinking what more weight can we expect today that might distort my surface and make me realign into unknown structurals...the lake is still now waiting for some ripples to happen either from underneath or from the skies and the wretched tree gaping at its natural existence and weathering and dropping into it its dryness as leaves...at times there is a joy and at times it a curse being a part of this world, sometimes we feel that we have earned somet