Biography of Arya Goswami

Indomitable, unpredictable and frolicsome flows time in perhaps its eternal transient will of which mankind ever could not suffice to instill divinity and serenity without being able to perspire and dwelling into the mists of true heartedness. Since when at sixteen, I believed I have recognized and played almost each game of time which ought to abound the man in his entire lifetime. Till date are events and decades which are profoundly written on pages which we know as history. And of which one may incisively deduce, and so had I, that history is a recurring space, which borns every day, an existence in itself, whereas there is literature, be that of Shakespeare, Tennyson, or that of a poet latent in some deep unseen place of world, which add an incense to history. I intend to believe in a fact that poets have a very short expected life, and what they live is merely a prose, running in verses and counting breathe emitting stanzas with no personal purpose for life, but merely poetry. So I choose to worship the pen, for history is as meaningless and soundless without literature as a rose without fragrance, blushing all pink but without beauty.

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