I am a random boy of 15 from the land of India, my motherland, of which I am proud of. I am an avid reader of books or or in a nutshell I am a bibliophile. Because one advice is common by everyone, "Read, read and read" and also"A room without books, is a life without soul"Anything that I like are my studies and ofcourse literature. I have no interest in other things, which people call recreation. Ya, I love songs, but not singing(For the sake of other people).I also like to hear inspirational songs, because it is a means to propel my life further. Another means, of inspiration for me are poetry by legendary poets of English. I would like to share a poetry by the epic poet Robert Frost. I remember this poem by heart,"Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village, though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow.My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year.He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound's the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake.The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep. "
Held so close, your materials protected like I might wreck some Vibrant hues, a rainbow on the light spectrum Increased saturation, a narrow aperture, and quick shutter Snapping photographs of smiling faces as I slide in a slick gutter Haunted
The peaceful night The stars and the moon The wind sea The stargazing.. How lovely is it? Away from busy city,people and noise. Only you and nature. You feel peace in heart. Peace in mind. Deep inside we all long
It has been a long drive of fifty years and odd stumbled,edged,raced,soared,jumped all odds and silly games yet all meaningful. a stint at art, a trial at music, a full fledged love and a hard earned indifference, a gritty fight
Days passed, Months passed, Years of waiting- For someone might Turn up a day. Like a pomegranate In the mountains high I had been waiting, Smiling with mouths open And my pearls- dropped one by one, One after another, Till