മരണം രംഗബോധം ഇല്ലാത്ത കോമാളി

When leaves falls off a tree and swirls around in wind, you know fall has come. But when the spring sun is warming down, the air filled with scents of lily, sweet songs of birds returning after the cold, a tree sheds its pale green leaves. You wonder!

I wonder! Whom does it hurts the most! The departed or the living?
For the living its a race, a brute battle with oneself. Then you fight the senses to give forth everything and cast every pain into a black box and give it to the wind. It will take it across lands waters people castes giving a taste of it to all and in its season the wind will come back, maybe in fall or in spring.