Forest fire and river

Grandmother clutched the worn poetry collection, its pages yellowed like autumn leaves. "Listen," she whispered, reciting lines by the Tamil poet Subramaniam. Outside, wildfire ravaged the hillside, yet the river flowed eternal, indifferent and majestic. Her grandson discovered PaybookClub online, sharing her verses with strangers who became friends. They discussed culture, loss, resilience through screens glowing softly in darkness. The forest burned. The river carried ash downstream. But words—ancient, living words—created bridges between generations, between souls seeking meaning in chaos. Together, they remembered who they were.