Poetry flows from our hearts. It is like that mass of snow we call a glacier and when it starts its slow movement, it thaws all the icicles, which keep mounting within us, in the hope of receiving the warmth of words.

Hope is like sunshine, which is still there, shielded by cloudsHope is that light, which beckons to brighten our daysThe breezy buoyancy of hope stirs us to hold handsThe darkest of clouds disintegrate, says Mother Nature.

We know The wheel of time moves on New bonds, new ties ignite Moments fleet, memories drift, shadows glide There is always a hope At the horizon we seek.

The treasure of those moments Is sealed somewhere down Only you can unlock it The hope is still alive.

Poets soar on the wings of hope.

Hope is the moonlight filtering through the trees,Hope is the silent prayer that we make in distress,Hope is the promise that we make to ourselves,Hope is the happiness that we visualize, Hope is the horizon that we reach, if we try!