And The Process Of Reading Is Such

My Eyes Close. I Am Here And Not Here. A Waking Nap? A Flight To The End Of The Galaxy And Perhaps A Couple Of Billion Light-years Beyond?

All You Who Sleep Tonight Far From The Ones You Love, No Hand To Left Or Right, An Emptiness Above-- Know That You Aren't Alone. The Whole World Shares Your Tears, Some For Two Nights Or One, And Some For All Your Years.

Why Do Writers, Say, Give Up A Job In Economics And Decide To Write Poetry? Or, Why Do They Give Up A Job In A Bank And Decide To Paint, Like Krishan Khanna? They Want To Convey Something.

There Are Plenty Of Good Indian Writers In English, And None Of Us Feel We Are Carrying The Burden Of Being A Poster Boy.

Music, Such Music, Is A Sufficient Gift. Why Ask For Happiness; Why Hope Not To Grieve? It Is Enough, It Is To Be Blessed Enough, To Live From Day To Day And To Hear Such Music-not Too Much, Or The Soul Could Not Sustain It-from Time To Time.