You don’t write. You create a land . The readers become the refugees of your willful thought process.You break open the tip of your pen, your heart, your mind, your entire life. A sudden trip to the memory lane that hurts , that enjoys, that comforts, that enlights. You break even the invisible force that recedes your thoughts and impedes your pride of writing. The world becomes the audience , you stand right at the center of the crew and be the conductor. Everyone’s eyes on your hands. The players and the listeners condone with your sensibilities and trust your deed.

You lead them to the land you create and let them be there and so you can lock them all inside your treacherous imagination. And someday so deliberately you destroy and watch the pain.