There is a writer in me. I want to write about so many things. Sometimes I feel like writing about the vastness of the magnanimous sky, at other times about the stillness of a serene lake. Sometimes about the melody of a mother's lullaby, sometimes about the innocent laughter of a four year old child. Sometimes about the peace I feel when I am praying to God, and at other times about the warmth I feel in memory of a loved-one. Sometimes I feel like writing about the eyes of a lover, and other times the tingling sensation in the heart when feeling a new emotion. Sometimes I want to weave the beauty of nature in golden words, and sometimes I want to compose an ode for my lovely mother. Then my heart wonders, aren't these words just going to add to hundreds of other golden words written by glorious writers dedicated to these topics? My heart turns out for other things and people. Shouldn't I be writing about the rampant corruption which is destroying the soul of our beloved nation? Or about the poor little children who are working instead of attending schools? Or about the unhygienic conditions in which people are living ? Or about the tons of rotting food grains in our country's godown while millions are dying of hunger ? Should I be writing about the injustice done with girl-child or about the various mal-practices that ruins lives ?
