Happiness knows things. It loves and it knows. It floats and it knows. It cures and it knows. It ravages and it knows. It laughs in thunderous laughter and it knows things. Things like the cloud can weigh over a million pounds. //caption// Float. Happiness walks on a tightrope. With its palms in a fist for a while. And then opened. Towards the onlookers. Happiness knows joining hands, palms touching, is never too close. The palms start sweating but the tightrope pathway is a few metres till the end. Happiness sees the end, smiles, procures out a seed tucked in its turban and flings it out towards the end and hopes the soil is firm enough for all the roots to spread in. Happiness hopes.
