The Sprauchled Breath
"I could not explain my worth,” she sighed, "I could not present the truth." "Why did the evil win?" as answer-less as an ancient rock. Her truth, though a whimsy for all, had started devouring her soul from her beating corpse. Being nourished in the hands of delicacy, she had begun to feel herself as a loathsome, putrescent soul. For her, the mirrors of reality had sprinkled the chaos of virtuality. She had begun to look for her peace by plunging in abysmal depths of thoughts. And the beauties of life seemed a chimera for her. But, what was the truth she could not present to the world? What was the bad event that was absorbing her peace? What was the flood that turned her morose? At such a young age, what was the cumber that was growing with her? She just used to hum some lines all the time as she roamed lonely in her aisle of sorrow.... "Weather was in rage and the clouds turned black... Oh! The sun chose to spread the sorrow in the sane.....