Poet Massa is the composer and an orator of poems. He genesised his composition and oratory eloquence at a tender age when chickens used to be alarm bells and dogs armed thatch houses as subject’s specialists.
Then comes a tortoise that once sledge hammered Massa on his way to what seemed to be a dejavu. Ironically, the tortoise spanned back and comprehended at that as eureka. That was never meant to be or so I thought.
As Massa watched the scene vividly, the hare skyrocketed at the speed not of formula one, but of a comet that streaks across night a sky. On the other hand, the crowd went into rapture at so gigantic a spectacle. The hare was on cloud nine when applauses trumpeted even more like Armageddon. How about a little nap? And maybe even a slumber? After all, long walk to freedom is done and dusted. All but these questions lingered in the hare’s grey matter, but the laws of nature gravitated simultaneously…
