In the game of pictionary, I was made to draw a portrait of yours. I picked up the paint and tried to do so. Seeing my hand shivering, I just planned to step down because the perfection cannot be drawn; it can only be felt. And that feeling to me seemed lost somewhere in the air due to the long gaps because of the sickness prevailing in your body.
The mother asked nature to bless her with a daughter who'd care. she said as cold as glacier adjustable as water the care taker the survivor the one who'd replicate her the one who'd hug on failure. my oldage, she said she would nurture the best of better during the heaviest thunder she'd provide the best shelter. a baby girl she wished for putting an end to the war to the God she said, I demand nothing more A wish to see before I sleep forever on the floor.
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