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A Book of Pulsating Hearts

Pages were white, though the ink was red

The words were still alive

There were some memories hidden in those words

Dialogues were old but were still alive, pulsating

They were fresh, as if, of this moment

And there was a fragrance coming from these memories

I checked a bit and realized that the fragrance was of love

Oh which means, that love was still alive, even today

And was waiting for me to touch it again

Caress it and make it my own again

But whose fragrance of love it was

Of those, who say that they love me

Or, fragrance of my own love

Or, of that divine’s love, seeds of which are hidden in each heart

Question was deep, but lucid

Sacred like Ganges

The answers were not to be found in shallow waters

Courage had to be gathered for a deep dive

Because pearls are found only in deep seas

On the waves, you get only white foam in your hands

Few courageous ones went to discover the answer

Jumped in the oceans, kissed the depths, embraced the darkness

But the moment they found the pearl, they dissolved

Oh! What a strange occurrence it was

Today morning, with cold breeze, the fragrance came again

And said softly, that on white pages, some secrets are hidden

Which are found only if you drown

Ink just makes you entangled

Because pictures change colours

Yes, every moment, pictures just keep changing colours…

A book of pulsating hearts

Pages were white, though the ink was red


“Every choice that we make in life is like preparation of the soil, soil of the heart to embrace all unknowns of life”