I might just end up writing again a howl instead-- of an era ripped open; poetry that is soaked in the sweetness of euphoria is not taking shape in my mind.

This moment my mind is bereft of poetry, yet I want to write nothing but a poem.

I am in no mood to write candle or radio, nor am I willing to write table, pen and paper; I want to write but a poem.

I am quite sure that poetry will live long with our generations to come.

A reader takes poetry deep within him or her by accommodating it within his/her range of consciousness. So there is a possibility that the poems are received and understood differently when they enter into readers’ sphere.

Before getting translated, a poem already gets shrunk or expanded within the ‘sphere of intellect’ of the translator in the original language, and it again gets shrunk or expanded within the ‘sphere of intellect’ of the translator in the target language.

There exists a chance of every poem getting changed while reaching every reader. This ‘getting changed’ is a form of ‘getting translated’, in a way. So, every assimilation of any poem is a translation.

In this vagueness, might a novel of fatigued evenings returning to nights, following unsuccessful all-day search for life be written.