Two minutes of silence.. (Full piece in caption) Anybody hardly writes stories however each one is a story in himself. We can have many kinds of writeups if we could occupy to listen to one. Stories move with the faces of mankind. They are omnipresent. They are in the bus stuck in traffic jams, at the railway tracks stupored days and nights. They are up talking to the sky, also which are left by. And if you noticed, one is just passed by your side. Some are haunting, some lamenting. Some may be happy with smile wearing the jaws, some shedding
