I have no sleep tonite, ever and again I opened my door and looked out on the darkness. I can see nothing before me. I wonder where lies my path!! Sitting here…. absolutely clueless…juggling the grey cells to the right cue to begin. So here I am to tell you a story….a story about a flower….which is so fresh, vibrant, brilliantly blooming along the banks of the cool refreshing water with its siblings and friends.         The horizon is fiercely bare. Not the thinnest cover of a soft cloud…not the vaguest hint of a distant cool shower. Still at the immortal touch of the breeze its little heart loses its limit in joy, which gives birth to inexpressible joy. The nifty butterflies adorned with rich velvety cloaks dancing to the tune of breeze at the court of the flowering grove. This little flower in coyness and sweetness waits to be plucked like its fellow mates…. fearing delay…. lest it droop and drop in the dust or is trampled under the feet of the children chasing the butterflies. It has never seen the face nor have heard of its plucker; only heard the footsteps somewhere in distant. As the curtain falls over the aging day a new panorama! Studded with jewels above the dim shore of the bleak river. A veil of night draws upon the tired eyes in sweet anticipation, though its color is not deep and its smell is faint but its hope of meeting its pucker is still unshaken. Never let your hope fade. Shanta.
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