One morning you woke up and saw ... your body was just lying. Everyone around the body is crying in pairs. Everyone's faces are normal to you ... ... Someone is grasping you and crying ... Someone is holding your infection hand .... You are contemplating "For what reason is everyone crying around you?"
You plunk down near someone and state, "Here I am" ... ... No one will listen to you ... You won't have the alternative to reveal your words to anyone ... To be sure, even a thousand signs won't have the choice to uncover to people "This is you". ... no one will hear you any more.
No one will consider you by your name any more drawn out .... At the point when an individual fails horrendously ... ... that individual evacuates everything in his body. A couple of lines of memory are kept with the people on all of the four sides.
We welcome a person to the world called Alhamdulillah ... additionally, we say goodbye to that individual called Innalinnah. The man who once sat near you and smiled will no longer laugh ... won't speak with you ... the human body will rot and mollify with the earth ... nevertheless, the lines of memory won't ruin ... How was the man ... What was the shade of his skin ... The way wherein he talked ... The look ... Each line is being created ... ... .... There is a diary in people's minds ... red, blue, yellow, a wide scope of tones. People are consistently forming something in that diary ... line after line. Numerous lines in a solitary day! ! ! The story with the lines ... moreover, the title of that story is "The Story of Life". The mind is spared in a charm box ... these lines. There are two ordinary lines in this story ... 1 ... line of birth 2 ... line of death. The interesting thing is you can't make both out of these two lines ... ... essentially "like time". Day, second, time ... each ha a substitute worth ... in that diary of the mind you are forming your past! ! ! People make their memories in their diaries and wrinkle them up ... by then they will laugh or cry when they read it ... ... people laugh at their past and chuckle, cry! ! ! Abnormal thing ... Memory makes an individual laugh again in the mud! ! ! There is torment concealed in the mud ... There is joy in boisterous laughing ... There is love in smiling ... I am astonished ... A man acknowledges he will pass on yet he can't recognize end viably ... Everyone is nectar He needs to persevere through whether or not he is postponed the earth for as long as he can remember by eating sudha .... There is a man named me in it .... From time to time I think ... Will there be someone to scrutinize the pages of my diary in the great beyond? Will you snicker or cry?