The world is making fun of me, Seeing in me an imperfect being; Perfection only comes to thee. I walk with a stick...as I have my limbs unfixed I talk with no words...only a few gestures I could a mix. I write with a shaky hand which goes a little offbeat... I breathe in the air of love ...and breathing out is the air of hatred to his holy feet. I have no shy in accepting the truth of my life Nothing is so hidden and everything is just so fine. I have no claims on their unknown facts and frames. I just love the way I am, because happiness is in accepting the same...!! A crooked I am but my heart is not... I may not be the best but calling out me the worse is a matter of thought? See this world, they all are imperfect? Even the trees walk tall, but its roots are always grounded. Look at The stars, it captures the entire universe. But in sunlight, they are nothing but all small little scars. I think, Perfection is the mystery whereas Imperfection is the truth... Humanity is the affinity of life, Holiness is the sacred fruit.