All the fanatics, and all their fantasies. Never swallow the pride, nor follow any rules. Hollow are their minds, but never act like fools. Because they never surrender. Never surrender to be the slaves of the past, nor masters of tomorrow. Because they do not know to grieve the loss, nor they know to heave a sigh of relief. Feeble is their belief of war, because they do not know what they’re fighting for. They will never win, nor they will kill the enemies. Because they do not know how it feels to bleed on the battlefield. They do not know to yield, nor to lead. Because they do not know what surrender means. To those who never lived, nor loved a soul. Giving up was never their trait. Emotions weren’t that great. And, they accepted their fate. Like a poem never surrendered to the prose. Used brevity like a rose, stories too never surrendered to rainbows.
Seasons turn, yet their rhythm never falters. The rains arrive when they must, the sun blazes in its time, and winter winds whisper their quiet chill. So too with this blog—its name carries a deliberate flaw, a gentle reminder that mistakes are part of us, often unnoticed, sometimes beautiful. Let this one be the sweetest slip of all: where Ameet becomes a myth, and myths find their faith. That's "Ameethyst"—born of imperfection, yet gleaming all the more for it.