To be crisp,in order to invent Beauty, you have to fly from the extreme end of your Imagination,and to reach there,you have to be alive with an urge for solitary travels,physically or mentally,where those experiences can give you a great Reflection on your Creativity.

Art lets man awake,so an Artist becomes an entertainer.

Its my sweet-lipped Passion:Art that drives me up to invent new smiles of Beauty,my wings are torn,and still it flies in search of Beauty.

Every second from Life,is an experimental trip,that teaches the physics of our sadness or happiness, leaving a tempest blow.

Why lamenting Nature, for you have done on Earth and high Heavens the most adorned works,your hues spread the jocund rainbow shine,and blissful thoughts of breeze are awakened,yet like a tainted maid,you droop and wept, sad below the bleak, barren fields, concealed from the steep views,that human kept,and a white cloud of peace in you dissolved.

Being a poetic heart is more like a throbbing self, a pretty melancholic wave inward tides,for many a time I begged the living world's mercy and how many times you fade my dreams at every day break.

The clear, peaceful mind,the mind runs for Creativity,for a pouring river song,the mind meets the Muse,in such a transcendental junction,o yes!Creativity blooms in abundance,the world enlightens.

Solitude itself your happiness,when a train of some promised words break like beads from the Heart's decked chain.

Ah! stir well your fancy, fear not to tell me those deep heart secrets now,look the sun goes down the high hills and by the tree shades we sat,in adored pose;along side the lake we sat,kissed by the winds nigh.