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""""Ouch! Not a book: an outlook defying the last, what we lost and are loosing thick and fast. Without grace, searching for space, leaving no trace of our face, ah! The love for the race. This book is not a cog in the wheel so has a feel, doesn't follow the chain of commands, hence demands, the crown for humanity to be secure, not the masked promises of blood and gore. This progress of man is profane, how long will man remain man? The fall is eminent with the grouch and eminent is the silence of """"""""ouch!"""""""".""""

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Meet me there; sunrays hesitant to step out, where. The night lingers in the promises of unending tears for tomorrow. Did any one say ""love""? Oh! Yes, I met it in the deserted lanes of sorrow, hidden behind the rosy pictures, without rose; freshly garlanded with warhead pathos.I am in the salt-pans of hunger, rubbed over, wounds so dear. Blood mistaken for water, still confused in colour? Meet me there. The vacant sky, in almost every eye; grounds merging into deep sigh. In between the winds have laid the snare, if you have life to spare, just breathe and meet me there.

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