Even if I were able to write, what could I possibly write?? A handful of words couldn’t fill those blank pages, left unwritten. Neither a stamp nor a watermark had made their way into this book. And yet the book remained for centuries, accumulating dust. It exuded a sense of secrecy, a feeling of being left away from the eyes of this world.
The world tried to read it but it remained there, narrow minded and unwilling to budge. To it, the world appeared selfish, waiting to exploit its genius writings. He remains yet to be deciphered to everyone’s chagrin.
So in vain the book was set aside; even the greatest scholars could not decipher its mind.