A lone bird, I tweet alone, shout alone… and when happy I whistle also while alone. Confined in my closed isolated room, I enjoy some lonely smiles, or weep my lonesome tears, whatever I may do, I feel, who’s there to care. While surrounded by a crowd also, alas, I continue to feel alone. I hide myself from the caring ones, least my mask shall fall like a waterfall bathing them in my tears. There’s molten lava kept under pressure in the heart of this cool thick stone. I don’t want my keens to get burnt in that. There is more sorrow in my heart than the life it has… and I feel it’s not good to share something as painful as my moaning mind.
Loneliness since centuries has been the mother of fine thoughts and great arts... where the pains stimulate creative mind. I have learned to enjoy the troubles it gives… but truly speaking at least sometimes this isolation hurts a lot.