With that hysteric laugh she bursts out- " When the skies shall wrap me and the yawning ocean shall tantalize me, when I shall be humming on the swings of memories and the scent of mahogany would tickle me , when I would dance in the rain and when the rays would burn through my darkest skin... I shall kiss the dust farewell and sail to some hushed dawn." With vehemence in her eyes she looked up- " As if the metaphors were imitating her, as if her pastel lips were festooned with elegance never so known, as if her tranquility synched in the tunes of her maneuvers, as if the fireflies bamboozled on the way ,as if the dusk bowing down and the walls echoing the zeal. As if it were an overwhelming fiesta , a transcendent celebration pouring down from heavens when she looked up with that transfixed fathomless look in her eyes."
If words are the euphonies of heart,then writing is the painting of the voice.