I was walking past a street and I found a family wasting their food but not sharing it with the impoverished people who were gathered opposite the road. The lady did notice them begging and sitting for a while but she crinkled her face and they walked past the street. I heard her babbling some comments but I would like not to mention them instead..heres a note I would like to share with you...
How would you feel to wake up next to a vase of roses and surprisingly you realise that the air that held your memories within a room of betrayal and sorrow, sprinkled a spark of water-like hope to you, with a new home where it was just you...and your memories...yes, this is it, you are healing! Maybe someone was right- " A woman's face with nature's own hand painted Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion; A woman's gentle heart, but not aquainted With shifting change as is false women's fashion....." - Sonnet 20, A Woman's Face with Nature's Own Hand painted by William Shakespeare Had I not read this, had I not received this beauty of work, I would have never known how I look from someone a far perception who admired my presence at the time. (Breathe)... And he wrote.... Here comes the curious case study To talk about a furious, bold lady Maybe Brahman would not be ready For a rare two-spoon mix of knowledge pretty From Bengal's hear...
