A book of pulsating heartsPages were white, though the ink was redThe words were still aliveThere were some memories hidden in those wordsDialogues were old but were still alive, pulsatingThey were fresh, as if, of this momentAnd there was a fragrance coming from these memoriesI checked a bit and realized that the fragrance was of loveOh which means, that love was still alive, even todayAnd was waiting for me to touch it againCaress it and make it my own againBut whose fragrance of love it wasOf those, who say that they love meOr, fragrance of my own loveOr, of that divine’s love, seeds of which are hidden in each heartQuestion was deep, but lucidSacred like GangesThe answers were not to be found in shallow watersCourage had to be gathered for a deep diveBecause pearls are found only in deep seasOn the waves, you get only white foam in your handsFew courageous ones went to discover the answerJumped in the oceans, kissed the depths, embraced the darknessBut the moment they found the pearl, they dissolvedOh! What a strange occurrence it wasToday morning, with cold breeze, the fragrance came againAnd said softly, that on white pages, some secrets are hiddenWhich are found only if you drownInk just makes you entangledBecause pictures change coloursYes, every moment, pictures just keep changing colours…A book of pulsating heartsPages were white, though the ink was red

- Sri Anish