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Subrat SaurabhAuthor of Kuch Woh PalA.H. Mehr has an eternal love for books, rains, and nature. She grew up peering through musty strips of comics in school and fresh newspapers at home, with an affinity towards literature and cherishing time spent reading books in the libraries. Among the usual ambitions that she was supposed to have about an education and a career and be so, she secretly dreamt to be a writer as well, only to fail at it year after year. Starting as a data entry operator to having a long, glossy, busy corporate career, with very little time for writing, she has seen all the oddities of life. When not working veRead More...
A.H. Mehr has an eternal love for books, rains, and nature. She grew up peering through musty strips of comics in school and fresh newspapers at home, with an affinity towards literature and cherishing time spent reading books in the libraries. Among the usual ambitions that she was supposed to have about an education and a career and be so, she secretly dreamt to be a writer as well, only to fail at it year after year. Starting as a data entry operator to having a long, glossy, busy corporate career, with very little time for writing, she has seen all the oddities of life. When not working very hard at her modest new day job or writing, she enjoys the quiet surrounding her, and oftentimes, is shrouded and lost in her mother’s memories, only to be pulled back into a chaos called Life. She wrote for a very brief time on Medium.com.
Read Less...Achievements
Like the parched earth that longs for a drop of water and feels vigorous when it rains,
like the scorching sun that longs for a shade for itself and calms down when evenings set in,
like the broken heart that longs for healing and its wounds fill up when someone loves it again,
like the infant that longs for warmth and feels secure in its mother’s arms,
like all the lonely people who long for a conversation and are ecstatic when someone talks to
Like the parched earth that longs for a drop of water and feels vigorous when it rains,
like the scorching sun that longs for a shade for itself and calms down when evenings set in,
like the broken heart that longs for healing and its wounds fill up when someone loves it again,
like the infant that longs for warmth and feels secure in its mother’s arms,
like all the lonely people who long for a conversation and are ecstatic when someone talks to them,
like the drowning man who wants to live, and delighted even if he catches a straw,
I hold on to poetry? - for a drop of water, for shade, for healing, for warmth, for a conversation, for a delightful life…
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