There is always a buzzing noise in my mind and suddenly it all stops. I need time to re-assemble myself which takes place in my heart. There I need some poem to enter and help me to remake the fine balance in my life. I need a language to spell out my voices away from me, sometimes in hope, sometimes in distress and dismay.

At a time my mind is full of harvested memories of my life. I can see my hopes flying away into the thin air like some butterflies and from some hidden corner of my room with a feeble voice darkness starts to communicate with me.  My disturbed stories are again making their enemy-like shape. Indeed I feel weaker and weaker.

I feel to get a way to hide myself behind someone and my mind runs towards every probable hope and soon finds me alone. Darkness probably knows this weakness and it turns off the available lights of my room.

I, with my loneliness, get busy to talk and often in sleepless nights I struggle for long. Such nights are often the most fatigued and most havocked as they is not ready to pass.

A critical moment just enters within and it will remain long but it indeed spreads fast like cancer cells within mind while paralyzing my body and soul. Frozen cells of my body have no way of trying to retaliate.

I, in silence, wonder how to fumble out all that is frozen within and try to know from where it all begins. Is life inviting them or are they coming within with my normal breaths?

I need a pilgrimage, a strong shelter, a wide open space from where I can start afresh. I can think again and I can run with the full capacity and allow my paralyzed mind and soul to feel afresh and to think again with the new ray of hopes.

Life needs words. It needs voices familiar and known. It requires subjects to think well. It wishes some change. It needs dialogue against its monolog. It wants hope to be always live within.

Hope brings the light. It corners the darkness. It introduces to a new beginning. It brings new conciseness and new frame of mind. Mind needs an escape and needs poetry to begin again. Some poetry knows well how to carry and push away the weight from the soul and knows well how the soul have been suffering under its weight.

I need to know how to turn my weight into poetry. Sometime my heaviness ponders, sometimes my relief speaks, sometime I sit blank and risk on thought to wheel again within.

My poetry needs time to be read. It is always first read by me alone and then waits long in the pages of my diary. I write slowly. I write to tell myself that I am not alone. I write to talk with myself. I write to know why I am so alone. I write to know why someone who loved me is now no more with me. I question myself why things are changing and where it is all headed to.

I am not afraid to write it all and leave all on my pages. I am not afraid to ask but I do fear to live unanswered with the range of questions while seeing my darkness shaping into a monster and unfortunately without finding a heart to communicate.

Life without communication is a punishment. Poetry is a communication of my inner world with this world. It is an expression of my oneness and fragmented self. It is the only true state of my soul.

I write poetry so do you and this chain keeps on moving without us knowing who is paddling this all. Is there any divine power working on everything or is it just cries of a feeble soul who always gets invaded by the torturous slip of a moment?

No one has answered this question. Everyone lives with his hopes. Some believe some don’t but the emotions are always struggling: some rip off my heart and some sooth, some rejuvenate and some kill.

My line of poetry always asks within something the divine. Sometimes I write a love poem with some delicate thrill of excitement and sometimes some strange savage poem with pain in my heart. I feel poetry is all that is left within me and I can write till I am the last.