The wheel of Time wrote the first half of the poetry of mass destruction on the black board of the ashes of a funeral ground by dint of a pair of pen… - Manmohan Acharya

The slippers of the mortal Earth, Now touched the chest of the Moon. Oh, It is shameful that

Dances an endless illusion, A woman of desire endures in my heart, I wait, O! Almighty cut the net of passion, You are the ultimate Source of light. Gitamohanam,(spiritual Hymns),

No doubt, the poetry, overjoyed by swallowing the beverage of passionate thoughts, delights the mind. But she does not realize the sorrows and troubles of the poor. Forget depicting the beauty of passions and present your poetry as a necklace of thought gems to swell the soul.