It was the only thing I had been living for. An aim whose realization I had dreamed about for the better part of last one year.
And now when I was just about to mount the second rung of the ladder, I seem to have been violently hauled off the very first rung.
I had never imagined that all my hard work, the painful hours I spent trying to read things which would be called 'dry' by anyone but the perseverant, the million times I told myself that my 'self-inflicted agony' would be richly rewarded , the physical and mental exhaustion I went through, would all be in vain.
My days had been so full of my single-minded,toilsome study, that the sudden cessation of it has left me vacant like a meadow that has been robbed of its verdure; a tree whose leaves have fallen off; a flower that has been deprived of its aroma; a mother who has lost her beloved son.
But there is always Hope. So I have been told time and again like a clock that keeps chiming the same tone.
This emptiness could perhaps be filled up. Every man with a life worth living has a hobby. Mine is my love for words. This love is the only thing left with me; the only thing no one can take away.
May be , I can still live.