Author: Tomy, Sheela
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Every land has darkness that illuminates it more than the brightness of light – the realities of those who cannot speak, their pain, their forests, rivers, wind, fragrances, why, even the gods that were stolen from them. Human beings are selfish. We record our feelings, thoughts and lofty ideals while forgetting the essence of what makes us unique. Even the marks we leave on this earth are only so that we can survive. So, what would a woman walking to her death write?
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I read Rousseau’s words in the last page of her diary: ‘If I would paint the spring, it must be winter; if I describe a beautiful landscape, it must be while surrounded by walls; and I have said a hundred times, that were I confined in the Bastille, I could draw the most enchanting picture of liberty.’