Fragrance of the weary,yellow thumped pages in the rusty old shelf enthralls my nostrils.It whispered some timeless secrets.But I was deaf.I could see,beyond the shallow depths of my consciousness, an unknown Atlantis or Dwaraka,my unconscious.I saw a huge dearth in my dead heart.I still see life,so live with love,pumping out of it when my heart is bruised by your memories,urging me to believe and feel your presence amidst the huge nothingness impregnated in your absence…
To my dear dear Latha teacher
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