I feel this is an historical day for me to be able to live here, in your great nation. If I am to tell you the truth, nobody has given me freedom as you have. My love is abundantly spilling over.

After a day of long, hard work people are exhausted and they are out walking. I am sitting at the window. The sun has already set and the trees all around me are shaking in the air. A flower is smiling in the joy of my meeting and I am relating my background of life to you.

I want to tell you many things of life. Such as the value of life, the existence of life and the whole story of life.

No, whatever I want to speak I cannot do so when you are in front of me. You are becoming very powerful and you have given me permission to live here.

I love your beauty, America.

Truly I am also a victim of terror so I started my journey to your beautiful land, beautiful country.

America, it is true, there lies a long path of inequality, and many people's desires are suppressed by poverty so terrorism is increasing. Humanity remains somewhere in the books scattered here and there.

When you see me sad most of the time you ask me repeatedly to be cheerful and explain in detail the value of being happy.

Life is a hard journey and a journey as such is limitless.

Therefore, with a view to making my life bright, I ran away from terror. Life is a struggle and I began a journey of continuous struggle. I am still running and fighting for justice -- justice for my people against endless battles and obstacles that try to impede our advance. America, my people in Nepal do not want terrorism. They want peace, only peace.

I began a journey in order to keep my days safe from death or, perhaps, for possible honor after death, where I broke myself up and am crying all alone. A human being has naturally a short existence and I am not an exception.

Why couldn't I encompass myself in words? Perhaps to go on being shattered constantly is to escape from life and to be unable to shape the circumstances according to the needs of the time is not to succeed in keeping life in equilibrium. I know that the ideal I have envisaged to live a kind of life will pull me down being heavily each day with my steps.

And again seeing my own life I would be sentimental as I am now.

America, from the roof of my heart I love you. Flowers dance submitting to the blowing of the wind and the path is completely covered with the leaves fallen from tree. Perhaps, it's going to rain. There is a storm blowing inside my mind as well and there is a flash of lightning within me and my heart is shrieking.

What should I or shouldn't I do? I feel like running away, outside, in the rain.

America, the battle I am talking about is the sacrifice, cooperation and the great declination of human affection for love.