That's the real story.
The stable mountain of intact pain collapsed. All the leaves fell and the environment was frightening. My friend Gyanu is out of work. The death of his grandmother was unpleasant. Death pulled down the potential right of her life and she left to never come back.
He's been seriously for as long as I've known him. He stared at heaven and worked together to bring his life back to reality. Gyanu was unable to make his own happiness and, therefore, he was imprisoned under all sorts of circumstances. He felt sorry in a collective sense and found himself alone as cast in the street. Perhaps his last days brought and left him at such a turning point in his life.
Where he went about poverty and now he lives in protest forming his tears in his own for That day he cried a lot and the tears of his relatives surrounded his grandmother's body made her soft heart suffer.
Dreadful was the night. The dogs were barking and there was a conversation about people somewhere in silence when his grandmother was gone and the day he lost his job. But even when he knew that he was responsible for protecting so many people's lives, he forgot everything and continued to cry as he watched his mother. Maybe he was petrified that he had no choice but to lead his own life without his grandmother's presence. He had to live somehow, even without his grandmother at his side to guide him, so he began to prepare to continue his life. He was great and he didn't let his life waste away.
Life is a difficult journey and a journey per se is unlimited. He used to tell me the trip of his life once in a while. He said he was related to the fly, when he was very young, and wanted to become a glorious and famous person. But poverty and the yearning lifestyle have rendered him incapable of achieving success in his own life. Consequently, with the aim of making his life brighter, he had fled his village. Her mother had wept. But he was full of comprehension. He got married in the village, then ran away. He had to choose between the two, marriage or life, and he clearly chose life when he was 12 years old.
He dreamed of becoming a great man and ran as quickly as his legs could carry him across the desert. Sometimes he remembered his mother and on other occasions his mind was busy with the thought of his newly married wife.
Although his thoughts sometimes went back to his younger brothers and older sister, he put them aside and continued to flee further. Life is a struggle and it has started a path of ongoing struggle. He had not started a crazy journey, and he had not saved himself from innumerable imbalances just in the rain. He continued to run and fight endlessly with the obstacles that attempted to block his lead.
Slowly his life started to turn around. He had already spent several years in a condition of success and crisis. He hasn't forgotten his wife and started to like her. Maybe he had a hunger for love. He, therefore, cast off the narrow social customs bond and began to spend a conjugal life of his own choosing. He was meek and he became a respected person because he is now respected by the people of society as a kind person. He's living in a limited happier. He lives like a person incapable of going over the high wall of mental anxiety.
He had fancied great happiness in life and had studied something about life with a beautiful small home where he would follow a lifestyle with a peaceful family guided by thoughts full of struggles. But the journey was completed. These days it weighs itself every time in its endless struggle for life. He watches the sky. He's looking at the moon. Its pain is as incomplete as its voyage. And in preparing for the struggle in its incomplete life And in the meantime the early morning of his life has slipped away from him as he continues to prepare to leave.
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