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Subrat SaurabhAuthor of Kuch Woh PalSharanya Singh, hailing from Patna , India, is 17 years old author, poet , writer ,avid believer of bringing all street animals home and ,lover of all things cute and especially ,her family. She believes in caring for the young , weak and unsupported, It is her ambition to work in the mental health field as a psychologist as well as to work at the international level , advocating for children, animals and the environment. Debuting with her poetry collection , she not only wishes to write for the youth but also for everyone who feels passionately for the world. She wishes to work for the bettRead More...
Sharanya Singh, hailing from Patna , India, is 17 years old author, poet , writer ,avid believer of bringing all street animals home and ,lover of all things cute and especially ,her family. She believes in caring for the young , weak and unsupported, It is her ambition to work in the mental health field as a psychologist as well as to work at the international level , advocating for children, animals and the environment. Debuting with her poetry collection , she not only wishes to write for the youth but also for everyone who feels passionately for the world. She wishes to work for the betterment for the world for ever and hopes to contribute into the making of a peaceful and sustainable world.
Read Less...Achievements
Hamartia is a noun,
a tragedy,
a hero’s befallen catastrophe,
a philosophy,
a book.
A book that has seen raging sadness as violent as that of a livid ocean. It is where refuge has been found and where torment has lain. It is the sacred realm of a dying dawn and the inevitable birth of a breathing night. It is where pain has grown thorns of joy in a garden of heaving sighs. It is an upheaval, a riot, a storm
Hamartia is a noun,
a tragedy,
a hero’s befallen catastrophe,
a philosophy,
a book.
A book that has seen raging sadness as violent as that of a livid ocean. It is where refuge has been found and where torment has lain. It is the sacred realm of a dying dawn and the inevitable birth of a breathing night. It is where pain has grown thorns of joy in a garden of heaving sighs. It is an upheaval, a riot, a storm, a quiet. It has the eyes of time and the hands of sorrow, seeing what is not said and touching bleeding words. It is not happy, it is not sad, it is but an enigma into the depths of how long we can hold on, onto shreds of what life used to be and what life was to be.
Hamartia is a book.
My book.
In all its senses,
My Hamartia.
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