1 + 1 = 3

In the pure heart of yours, there were dreams of love
dreams with wings that fly sky high
shaping of a man who will never make you cry

I feel lucky to be the one who gave form to that man
though with faults , chiseling myself to fit as far as I can
have patience my love , it's not too far as it seems
the man you love, will indeed be the man of your dreams

With all the love over these years, we have grown as strong as a tree
ready for the next step when we two become three.



A brown narrow path cutting the green field into half, like the middle binding of the book, breaking and making a story at the same time, runs through into the woods. Sometimes straight, sometimes curvy representing its emotions at stages. People think that it will lead them somewhere. How humans trust a path more than their kins sometimes. Knowingly and unknowingly, they create and preserve the path, knowingly and unknowingly showing the right or the wrong direction. In rain, the path is muddy, water puddled in potholes, nuisance for adults, adventure of the littles. Narrow, wide, short, long, right, wrong are its familiar neighbors. Sometimes too many and sometimes all alone, sometimes has a partner too, some lucky paths. They will live till they are used, else nature will take back its righteous belonging, i.e a piece of land, and one scar less made by the humans.