Imagine standing amidst the bustling energy of the National Children’s Literature Festival, clutching a prize for a short story titled “Healing of Wounds.” That moment sparked an exploration into the realm of children’s literature, eventually.
In the heart of eternity, where the fabric of time gently folds upon itself, there lies an ancient library. This haven, a repository of the world’s silent whispers and lost wisdom, is where Chanakya, a.
I write with ink of gratitude, Each word a brushstroke on life’s canvas, Painting scenes of joy and grace, In the gallery of my heart. I sing melodies of thankfulness, Each note a dance of.
It’s fine to feel that your talent has slipped away, It’s okay to entertain thoughts of despair when the world seems oblivious, It’s alright to sense that you’ve transformed into something unrecognizable, It’s okay to.
Beneath the digital whispers, in the glow, Your strength rises, a status quo. Mere avatars, you’re the true essence, Old norms unravel, like code in succession. You’re the new byte, let them decode, With grace,.