Time plunged on the stroll leaves like butterflies..the day I started breathe on the land of valley, which is holding the roots marching on routes towards my (human) heart.
Colours of lemon's fresh smell..Taste's as mint-y crushing blossom..on skin feels like milk-way. The city of concreted history has its own thorny, rooting rotting ecilipse-y. But, what a beauty!
Thought I : " does this land has the capacity to hold it? If she could bear the fruit for future which sowed in the womb of past..to prosper our future. Then where's it ? "
The city had/having a long chain of rulers..from time to time..she's holding tradition of 'bazaars'(markets), 'bageecha'(gardens)..many of with flower-y skirts..hitherto, it got withered by the spikes of her butcherers. A heritage full with gratitude which is dug from the era of knowns.
In small cottage leads to tiny paths, I spring and seek this love.