Rain poured softly the day Krishna first saw Purvi—draped in yellow, lighting incense at the Ganapati pandal. Their eyes met like a prayer answered. Thunder rolled, but all he heard was her laughter. From borrowed umbrellas to shared street-side chai, their story bloomed. Every rain after felt like a song only they understood. When they wed under cloudy skies, even the priest smiled, “Blessed by Bappa Himself.” Years passed, but every drizzle pulled them back to that pandal, that glance, that moment. Love, like rain, sometimes arrives quietly—soaking deep, leaving music in its wake. Krishna and Purvi were always meant to be.
Ray of light far from sight All his need is a caring feed A place to sleep, a blanket to keep - the despodent waif Warm and safe Cruel men see the poor one plead, Emptiness filled hearts hesitant to share a part. On the pavement's corner sits this lad a bit. Weak and pale telling his tale None hear Do they feign fear? Hoping - is all he could do for some fresh hot stew Every passer-by down the lane Ignore this guy and all his pain Why is this scene not wiping off my brain Serene it Remains Revives time and again As I sit by the window of the train.
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