At times when I am all alone…nowhere to fool around…or…no works to perform…I prefer to write…scribble…and savor the enduring pen-crafts of consciousness…
And that is the time…!!!…when I face my self…a persona that is hardly known to any one…not even me…!!!…

This is not my first attempt to know the chore of these words…but the desire it evokes…is still a mystery for me…series of phases…that keeps me alive…a process…that makes me…a woman…!!!…

On occasions I am really charged with scores of ideas….at that moment, emotively I don’t need to injure those leafy pages…the words then tend to flow ceaselessly…electrified in a way that they even don’t feel like waiting for me to guide…
But times like now…when I can’t find anything to write…or loose hold of my words…or…when all of my ideas vanish into thin air…I struggle…violently I look for them…a mad woman in search of abstraction…
Can’t locate them…!!!…

But I know…it is a cycle…once again the time comes…when I see them from a far distant island…Pages are once again soft…orgasmic progression of pen…overflowing ink…set of secret languages delightfully taking a shape…
I conceive…!!!…

A mystic effect on the writer it forms…transforms itself to be something paranormal…
No more a preserved text in a medium…not just a sign or a symbol…not a dated history…but…a web that entangles a self called writer…a claustrophobic state of affair…the poor soul scratches the pages of notebook with her nail-nib…
A piece is born…!!!…