These days have mostly imbued with the scorching sun and the shimmering moon. The languorous mist cloistered the space between the sun and the sea as if they were kissing each other passionately. The rivers are carrying the earth’s filth hither and yon. The breath has been becoming more and more treacherous. The Saviors of Life drowning deep down with the skin of the habitat. I always wonder how connections have been preserving life from the start of the universe. After 380,000 years of the big bang in relentless temperatures, the proton still found a way to bond with electrons. The enlightened stars burn with the hope of bringing light to the emptiness of space. We, too, suffer a lot to brighten our life like stars and radiate like a Sun. In the Book of our life, if everything is free will or deterministic, which I always confuse. Yet, one thing is for sure: we are not puppets of god: we are puppets of our own emotions, decisions and actions. We never know what the universe holds for us. Time is the ultimate author. Each moment is another line in the books of our lives. Each life is another thread in the story of the universe. Every moon has its sky, but every sky doesn’t have the moon. It still the same Sky that seems the eternity and beautiful in its own way of uniqueness.