How not easy it is to move on to the next paragraph after the verses you penned has gone haywire. The rhyme gets lost in transition. You can’t fathom what all you could have probably done if there ever was a second chance. To re-write and revive.
Life and lines are just the same.
Songs from bygone eras heralds the beauty of verses most forgotten. Like golden Victorian coins left in dark store room corners; sweet memories safely stockpiled in guarded utterances of one’s soul. For certain things seldom cease to die: true love for the falling stars; delicate dreams of a broken soul recuperating on its own.
The world is made up of songs, poetry, and love. What a wish to make upon a falling star!
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