times in life, it happens, we
haven't control on the
time, it plays on
the fingers
of
destiny, several times we keep
the glass vase on the safe
place, a little flick, but
breaks the dreamy
blossom, the
life has
its
own compulsion, some stories
never be expressed, it
remained beneath
the chest. just
shrouded
by the
mist,
some mystique language exists
in the depth of eyes as the
unresolved scripts of
bygone era !
toward the
extinct.
* *
- SHANTANU SANYAL
http://sanyalsworld.blogspot.in/
blue bird acrylic painting on wood mantel craft berrybush
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