"I walk with pride.

I walk with nothing to hide.

I carry my flaws

I'm not afraid of any claws.

I rise in dark

I am wise with spark.

let this be the song to your spirit, let your soul find its rhythm and go with the harmonious flow to the path of being wise and rise with the glow that no darkness may conquer, and no victory greater to achieve would abide, as there would exist your most virtuous yet humble abode." 

these are the words of one of my aunts. she is in her 60's, recently she lost her best friend and lived the most moments of grief and sorrow, feeling every bit of it wholeheartedly and independently. she is the soul that lives and cherishes every mundane moment of life. I recall she and her best friend, they would call each other soulmates, they would fetch even a roadside little flower and present it to each other as if some most valuable jewel. I saw them dancing, on their own melody, singing their own ragas, cherishing every change and difference.  

the most tragic thing was, they never knew each other favourite substances, like colour and food, on asking why, they would answer, “every day is a new life, with new choices, why just bind ourselves with the notion of favouritism”, for them every other day was as wonderful and fresh as the newborn baby, ready to take the adventure called life. 

a day before yesterday, it was her best friends birthday, she organized a party, all of their common friends were there, and honestly saying, it was an honour for me to attend that most wonderful and mind-blowing party. but what was the most emotional as well as heartwarming was her toast. she didn't speak much of her, but she just read aloud a small part of their favourite prose. it was so mesmerizing and overwhelming moment for everyone there. after her session, everyone from the guest toasted ‘to the freedom’, I look at my aunt in a puzzled way, being as calm as always, she replied, ‘ they call us freedom’. that was the most astonishing moment of my life. those kindred spirits gave me the magnificent moment of my life.  

that night I went to her room to ask if she needs anything, as I entered I saw her staring at a picture of theirs, in the picture they were at some hill station, surrounded by long stretched mountains and all greenery. I asked her about the picture, in reply she said those above-mentioned lines and thats when i got to know the origin of my trait of writing. 

Dear readers, this was just a fictional tale. Share if you like it XO