There was a child, in a fair land. The land was wet, the land was dry. The land had friends, the land had foes. The land was growing on its tip-toes. The child was born, the child was small. He had few friends, he called them all. He called them to party, he called them to play. He called and called and he called them to stay. He shared his chocolates, he shared his games. He shared his heart with everyone one of them. He had his friends and they had him, together forever they all used to say.
A few years passed some friends were gone, the child was gone and there stood a boy. This boy was growing, the land was growing. The child grew fast, the land grew on its tip-toes. The boy that stood, had a few friends, some were old and so some were told. He called them to party and he called them to play. He called some to his home and some were kept away. He shared some pages and kept the books away, they shared some appetizers and kept the main course away. He shared his heart with very few who bargained their hearts for pleasures new. But he had his friends and they had him, together forever they still used to say.
A few years passed and most friends were gone, the boy was gone and there stood a man. The man was now in a faraway land. The man was growing, the fair land was growing. The man grew without the fair land, the land grew on its tip-toes. The man that stood had new friends, he now followed different trends. Someone in the past had bargained his heart, for some pleasure, for some pain. The man that stood now fought in wars. Wars of past, wars of the future. Some for survival some for revival. He had a few scars, he had a few friends. His friends fought the same adult wars. His new friends had scars, his old friend had scars. But none of them shared anything so far. They put their bodies on displays of perfection and hid their scars in godowns of neglection. They saw a perfect picture, they showed a perfect picture, but there were piles of scars till so so far. Only if one saw, only if one realized, only if one improvised. Only if remained only ifs. Perceptions of perfection melting through the glass of improvisations are somethings that remained hidden.
But the man had friends, and the friends had him. In a perceptively perfect land, they lived. He called them to party, he called them to play. He called and called but never to stay. He shared his experiences, but not his feelings. He shared his views, but not his thoughts. He has his friends and they have him, together forever now they never would say.
A few years passed some friends were gone, the child was gone and there stood a boy. This boy was growing, the land was growing. The child grew fast, the land grew on its tip-toes. The boy that stood, had a few friends, some were old and so some were told. He called them to party and he called them to play. He called some to his home and some were kept away. He shared some pages and kept the books away, they shared some appetizers and kept the main course away. He shared his heart with very few who bargained their hearts for pleasures new. But he had his friends and they had him, together forever they still used to say.
A few years passed and most friends were gone, the boy was gone and there stood a man. The man was now in a faraway land. The man was growing, the fair land was growing. The man grew without the fair land, the land grew on its tip-toes. The man that stood had new friends, he now followed different trends. Someone in the past had bargained his heart, for some pleasure, for some pain. The man that stood now fought in wars. Wars of past, wars of the future. Some for survival some for revival. He had a few scars, he had a few friends. His friends fought the same adult wars. His new friends had scars, his old friend had scars. But none of them shared anything so far. They put their bodies on displays of perfection and hid their scars in godowns of neglection. They saw a perfect picture, they showed a perfect picture, but there were piles of scars till so so far. Only if one saw, only if one realized, only if one improvised. Only if remained only ifs. Perceptions of perfection melting through the glass of improvisations are somethings that remained hidden.
But the man had friends, and the friends had him. In a perceptively perfect land, they lived. He called them to party, he called them to play. He called and called but never to stay. He shared his experiences, but not his feelings. He shared his views, but not his thoughts. He has his friends and they have him, together forever now they never would say.
