This is a frantic mind that fights with itself, in these pages, amidst the meaninglessness, the fear, the snatches at the truth which disappear in the next breath they are perceived. The author reveals the silent struggles that each of us is engaged in through the works that breathe like air, when they rise, fall, and come back.

Whether it is of naked loneliness or the bursting of the genius, every poem breaks a window into the inner world we are all usually so secretive about. Starting is not merely a series of ideas—a process or a procession of returning to the self in its one false, flaming, molten bit.