That face , which once gave away those melting, bright vibes ,
Is withered , roughened by the daunting wheels of turmoil .
Those hands , which once transformed the blank paper into a meaningful soul by its flashing verbal strikes , are now wrinkled , shivering under the burden of these never ending quests .
The mind which once engulfed the whole galaxy without any remains , is settled down like the soil, with the death of the turbulent water.
But the heart, which gathered and stored the love of the entire living, is still beating endlessly, unscathed, unwounded by the bruises of this barbarous mankind, still loving eternally.
To the soul, who lives not for religion, not for patriotism , but for history. For it is the one who has witnessed the struggle and it is the one that matters.
Thank you for being my idea of perfectionism,
To Mother Nature,
To Ruskin Bond (Rusty)