them, hipped faces wait
for a glimpse of their
smile, and that's
reason they
blossom
even
in the beds of thorn, it's easy
to make cry but real art
is found in the heart
of a clown, the
life has its
own
way of recovery, only needed
the survival instinct, maybe
in the desolation of
Sahara or in
the ice
capped Himalaya, the life - - -
crosses all the
interruption.
* *
- SHANTANU SANYAL
