A plain man can only live plain and think plain. And plain thoughts just flow from the streams of a plain heart that embarks on a virgin land to say a few things with flowers. When this so sometimes happens, poetry is apt to play ducks and drakes with the caustic reality of everyday nature and those everyday realities tend to fall an easy prey to sarcasm of reality. Sarcasm of realism is what I tend to define as surrealism.
Here I will present a collection of poems as they come out of my encaged heart to struggle with the strifes of reality using the powers of wordplay in a new ambience of sensing reality as hope and despair, blinding light and silver lining darkness. Poetry is always like that. Sometimes it is, sometimes it is not. But the reality remains the bone of contention as always and everywhere. So, I cannot keep my fingers crossed as to what way the wind will blow.

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