So much we talk about the happiness of our dreams.
I now believe it is nothing but the absence of sadness.
But how miserably I fail.
To thank for my needs, my comforts and my luxuries alike.
The joy of composing a good poem when the heart is heavy, is happiness.
The joy of singing out loud, in pain or in pleasure; is happiness.
The ritual of rubbing sleepy eyes every morning,
With the same thought of having missed breakfast; is happiness.
Every little while, I should sit back and recollect and rejoice.
The past. The memoirs. The tales.
Today I am happy – Inspite of all the problems around, I have realized I am happy.
So much so, I am writing this..