Books of novel are tetra-packs. Fruits of society are manually picked up crushed, mixed in neat proportions and sealed to make fresh fruit juice. Goodwill achieved by the presenters put wings to the packages.
It’s a different world in the dark interior There are dreams of sun, rain, summer, and the colors and tunes of spring present a mirror world full of butterflies and pests. Each pack waits to tell its inside story to an expectant connoisseur and waits eagerly for a sigh of relief.
As the wind rolls on cloned and genetically modified fruits appear new entrepreneurs present newer packs modern people enjoy never-before taste. Every now and then new vistas open up, the two worlds spin side by side.
My first book was a store of love words were made of sound and touch characters smiled and sung lullabies I learnt to talk and run for the sun. There was a flood of colors, letters, sentence rules and social
Those who have books shine With lively bright colour twine. Books – a Daniel – be in shrine To take us all up with whine. Saraswati, indeed, did opine My talents with saccharine And help me for Her to reassign
Friends and good books, Worth keeping always, No matter how one looks. Books offer an insight, To one’s life. Friends pick you up, Give wings to your flight. Books light the intellect, Friends too make your life perfect. With books you are
Flipping pages inhaling words Like open arms and fluttering birds. A clay pot, a blue sky. Paddy fields passing by. Just touch each word, it comes to life With laughter, anger, pleasure and strife I travel with people living in