In the splashes of colours and heap of clay
In the bowers of water, in the rays of day
The only thing you’re bound to see
Is the life and breathe of Beauty!
It wraps itself in the innocence of a child
And resides in the profound silence of the wilds
Smiling as the rain it never seizes to be
The ever so wonderous Beauty!
It lives in the wrinkles of an old face
In the bed of the ocean finding its solace
Shining as the sun, all merry
Dances forever, the soul of Beauty!
Dear Mom (and Dad)
We are happy in our new home on the sandy island with the large sun. It is a warmer place than our Streetfield mansion but huger in size. M. just keeps on playing all day with his coconut shells, tree leaves and any other knick-knacks that he can dig up from the sand. Yesterday, he ran up to me with a glass bottle. So, we decided that we would write a letter to you (and dad, if he’s around) and put it in the bottle. We would send the bottle through the ocean.
I am writing this letter because M. has gone off to play again. And also, because he does not want you to know that he is healthy and hearty here too. He wants to keep his running away a secret from everyone! (So, please don’t tell him that I told you)
He plays the whole day here and makes strange things from waste. I wonder he doesn’t get tired at all. But he says he feels happy to be the architect-doctor-protector- and teacher cum friend of the plants here. I just stay with him to ensure that he doesn’t hurt himself. I don’t play with him Mom. I revise my alphabets and chapters with schedule throughout the day.
Did dad return home? Did he bring us any gifts? Could you tell him when he comes that our teddy bears were torn on our way here and we miss them too much? Maybe he can send us two new teddy bears when he crosses the ocean around our island. M. says he wants a brown one this time. I think I still want a yellow one. I’ll let you know by my next letter if I change my mind.
M. has nothing to say in particular. He just groans when I ask him to write to you. But maybe that is because he is busy decorating the glass bottle. He tore the blue shirt which you had gifted to him on his 11th birthday. Mom. I have kept the piece of his torn shirt with me to show as an evidence of his mischief. He had told me that he would have liked the shirt more if it was brown. (I think he’s in one of his “color days” that’s why he’s asking for everything to be brown. But I’ll tell you in my next letter if he picks another colour someday).
I am closing this letter now, M. wants to throw the bottle before the day ends.
M. and M.
P.S. Mom, your peacock brooch is hidden in my closet. I didn’t steal it. I found it on the floor the other day and took it school for showing it to Martha. I am sorry I borrowed it for long.
P.P.S. I am not fighting with M. anymore.