the tale of the rose...

if you have...like me...fallen in love with the tale of the little prince and his rose...you should not hesitate to leaf through the pages of this tale of love...love which causes delirious bouts of happiness... and heart-wrenching anguish...

his fragile little rose...nurtured and trampled on in one breadth...

listen to the anguished cries of the fragile rose and understand that love is...ironically...a bed of roses filled with thorns...filling the air with a sweet aroma but cutting you...unleashing the deep crimson of pain if you grasp it unwittingly...or too passionately...

it is futile to understand love... you can merely be a victim to its embrace...

the end...

i bade lahore farewell for the year...and look forward to my return in the new year...

i long to elope with the serene solitude of the towering mughal artistry which never ceases to amaze me and remind me of my finite nature in an infinite history...

...

as i write my own...my will overcomes all repressed emotion...i let go the past...not to forget...but to forgive...
for only letting us have what is given to us and not what is not meant to be...

it isn't cruelty.
it is just.
it is fate.