The image that I am not aware of or may be I do not want to know. The image which may have been lost or perhaps it has been slaughtered. Whoever says that there is still a burial in my grave in a desolate graveyard. Whom I might not have survived or perhaps had himself forced to kill him with his own hands.
The image that is still alive in my living conscience still alive is dying. That image or shadow is troubling your life with feelings. An arzu buried with a dry sauce, one is waiting, one is waiting.
There is a hope that he will go to the image or the reality. It has gone or who has died, perhaps, it will be found or perhaps it will be alive.
The day on which all the world will be immersed with my blood. When the image or shadow will be compelled by itself. You will find yourself, will be removed from your own self, then there will be a match with the dust, the soul of the soul.
It was stopped that something which was shadowed or shadowed, was the mirror of reality, whoever ever … I have not completely disappeared even after many years … and neither has it been fully revealed.
The person who was blurred, in the shadow of time, the broken hands themselves were themselves, the image he shadowed, the mirror was the truth … He who slept for many years in darkness When he was awake from sleep, lighted from his slaughter, his shoulder stitches, feeling a heart, why he was restored again.
Written by Author & Writer Vikrant Rajliwal.