Ah! The sight of these sun kissed soft clouds drifting in the wet wind in this azure blue sky leaves me spellbound. But soon charcoal grey sky will camouflage the golden light.
I enter my room & put the tele on, drowning myself in the sea of politics, doublespeak, vested interest calculations. A murder somewhere, human right violation everywhere. Our country of dirty Ma Ganga & garbage eating sick cows who we call as our mother.
A country lost in the cob of its own illustrious history. I switch the TV off & take a walk out with my dogs, the water flowing cheerfully in the fields whispering their never ending stories. Rain is in the air, you can feel it in the breeze. I hear verses from a distant gurdwara & a temple carried by the wind both perfectly amalgamating with each other.
But even when we all are the same, there is a constant question that we keep feeding our hungry minds. My Prophet or yours?