The one always complained,
That the other snatched the earth’s lap,
And took away the treasures,
Without question.
The one always feared,
That the other won everywhere
Making the one fall behind
Into depths of envy.
The one always struggled
Bruised by the praises of the other
That were razor sharp
Piercing the soul
The one always decided
To find fault in the other
That The one will be always right
Born of the same flower
They were two in all sense.
–Priya Pramod
PRIYA'S VISUALS 