This is not a book
the sentences in it are
My arteries and veins-
Cut off my hand if you want, cut off my leg;
But don’t touch my tongue-
it is the instrument of my word –
performing marriage between vowels and consonants,
and anointing honey to ideas, he who brought
meandering stream of life to the world of letters,
in his sweetness world bathes and becomes virtuous-
in words there are wine yards-
authoritarians arrogance cannot humiliate him-
Man can ascend mountain, peak but not the peak of life-
He can touch the stars of the sky but cannot touch the heart-
He can cross the oceans but not a tear-
If man were to be floating in life like
The rag of white cloud in the sky
Why there will be lust and lewdness, rancour and wrath?
Why would wars vanquish this world?
Stop! Stop! Some memory is coming walking on dry leaves;
What message it has brought from
forests of this raging summer-

-Seshendra Sharma