Changing thoughts were creating chaos in frenzy, unabashed, following the stricken prey, to reclaim the violence of a stalker.
Was there any law of jungle? Or rule of law in the midstream of a formless prosthesis, gaping void, throwing up a primordial fear.
Becoming tired of looking at the wastes around. No mystery was left in life. How often you will sit on the pyre to ignite the high priests of knowledge?
The curved images of receding years are disappearing. How long you will wait,how long?
