Rumi sat on a wooden bench with his head held down between the palms of his hands, elbows resting firmly on his thighs. The noise from the crowds around didn't bother him much as he was even more agitated from within. Perhaps that's what had hauled him to the bus stand where he'd felt the external chaos could silence his inner discord. All his life, artwork and painting had been his chosen medium of expression.
The classic pieces he'd created could speak volumes on his dexterity Yet, currently, he seemed to be burnt out of his flair for creativity. Was it a midlife crisis? What about his passion and that longing to create a masterpiece? The passion was still ablaze in all its glory beyond any shadow of a doubt. What was lacking probably was an aesthetic source of inspiration.
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة August 2024 من Woman's Era.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك ? تسجيل الدخول
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة August 2024 من Woman's Era.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك? تسجيل الدخول
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