"The story of the nightingale"
When I was young,I didn't quite understand what love was,and love stories definitely had no implications on me.I was never desirous of travelling down the lane of vows,cuddles and solitary moonlight walks.So when the young boy wept for not being able to bring his lady love the blood red rose,I only laughed.And when the nightingale above the tree,beneath which the bright boy wept uncontrollably,I wondered what was wrong?Till one moonlit night,the beautiful nightingale sung to the tunes of love,sacrificing its blood,pierced his breast into the thorn of the white rose tree.Blood flowed,down the criss cross twigs,colouring the rose blood red,till the nightingale died,died for the sake of love.And my heart now writhes in pain,to realise how brutal was the bright boy,to throw away the bright red blood drenched rose into the gutter,betrayed by the woman he loved.I now no longer laugh at the vows of love,no longer sneer at its existence..
When I was young,I didn't quite understand what love was,and love stories definitely had no implications on me.I was never desirous of travelling down the lane of vows,cuddles and solitary moonlight walks.So when the young boy wept for not being able to bring his lady love the blood red rose,I only laughed.And when the nightingale above the tree,beneath which the bright boy wept uncontrollably,I wondered what was wrong?Till one moonlit night,the beautiful nightingale sung to the tunes of love,sacrificing its blood,pierced his breast into the thorn of the white rose tree.Blood flowed,down the criss cross twigs,colouring the rose blood red,till the nightingale died,died for the sake of love.And my heart now writhes in pain,to realise how brutal was the bright boy,to throw away the bright red blood drenched rose into the gutter,betrayed by the woman he loved.I now no longer laugh at the vows of love,no longer sneer at its existence..
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