Since then i am writing and writing and writing
Without looking left or right
As if it is a one way journey through middle path
And my return no one knows, so no one is talking
And i am breaking and in the way of breaking
i have broken my neck
Developed pain yet I keep going because I am adamant poet
And going without looking at the giant thesaurus
The beast of jungle of words
I do not make plan, do not design
Counting is not in my habit so meter and foot remained uncared
And rhyming? That is a play of child
I am grown up; I play with words and ideas
The thing i care I think we all should know is the flow of thought
And its cascade spontaneity
Or its spontaneous falling like that of a fountain
But how long have I gone towards freedom
how much close to it I am?
I am too close to reach it so I keep going…….