Your silence kills I don't know why

I don't know you well...but I miss you, I don't know why
I believe you more when I listen you sing
and feel you more when I close my eyes
its celestial, surreal yet feel as if real...
I don't know you but i miss you , I don't know why
Oh dont sing a silent song...
your silence kills,it's been long...
( dedicated to someone who is silent somewhere) By Swarup k Mohanty

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The Mathematics of Friendship: When Subtracting One Leaves Nothing

Friendship is often described as a bond that enriches our lives, adding depth, joy, and meaning to our existence. But what happens when that bond is broken? Is there an equation to describe the aftermath of losing a friend? Interestingly, there seems to be a unique arithmetic at play in friendships, where subtracting one friend can sometimes leave nothing behind. Friendship equations are not about numbers and formulas; they are about emotions, connections, and the complex interplay between individuals. Imagine a scenario where two friends, let's call them A and B, share a deep and meaningful connection. They laugh together, cry together, and support each other through thick and thin. Their friendship seems unbreakable, like an unending equation where the sum is always greater than its parts. However, life is unpredictable, and circumstances change. Perhaps A moves away, or B's priorities shift. Slowly, imperceptibly, the friendship begins to fade. Calls become less frequent, me...

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Kuduchi(Hollerhena Antidysentrica)

In the woods of Odisha, then so lush and green, Lies a tale of a tree, the Kurchi, unseen. Its bark a remedy, magic for ailments severe, Healing the sick, bringing hope and cheer Hush, my child, close your eyes so tight, Dream of the Kurchi tree, in the moon's soft light. Its branches swaying, in the gentle breeze, Whispering secrets, among the trees. As a boy of the sixties past and bye Grew up listening granny s lullaby Her knowledge so vast Of Kurchi's power, to cure and to mend, A home healer's legacy, from end to end. Into the forest, we would often roam, Gathering herbs, finding our home. Kurchi's white flowers, a fragrant delight, In the valley, a beautiful sight. But time marched on, and the trees did fade, The wisdom of old, began to cascade. The bark of Kurchi, for handia, we'd use, A drink of joy, no need to refuse. Handia, a brew, both old and young savored, A health tonic, in tradition, so favored. The Kurchi tree, a treasure profound, In every aspe...

SCENTS OF LIFE- SO(U)L

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