- May 21, 2014
have been to the new ray of hope — I, a mused traveler, an Indian, a démodé brain by the very origin, a draughtsman that works for a mechanical wing, an ardent reader of fiction, and the appreciator of many written works. A painter who is really fond of unveiled Imaginations.
In my book, I chose to be myself, the one who vows a new cultural age, the dreamt passions still athwart from the soul. One who wrote his Non-fiction work, a book called Halcyon Wings, amid solitude, with a quest waving in me since I enjoyed the wonderful ibzng world of mysteries that tempt me to write— as they were my own feathers of freedom to fly. There was a conflict in my life, the agonies that overtook me in all the forms of its glimpses. The past is a terrible dream that awakened me to rouse the effectual sound of self pleasure, since no horror spoilt me. I lost much happiness —dear ones, relatives, friends —though inevitable, to nature’s deep philosophical will, and these are losses that I, as a humble student, still know.