No story can describe the character which m living... What should I called to myself... Or how I should define me... A vulgur portrait on canvas??? Broken Wings? Bird in Cage? Chained in golden threads... Clamor in a air, Colour of clouds, Dead leaf on tree, Eternity of emotions, Endowed one to bear all, Flame of cremation, Flower of rose on burial.. Glory of ruined? Height of monster? Ivory of ignorance??? Jubiliation of breathing.. Kidnapped in rituals, Light of lamp, M elody of mourn... Nest....who's always search? Oomph of their omissions? Pity on presence? Queen of cards? R ay of hope... S ilence of responsibility? T reasure in a trunk? Umbrella of colours? Vision of blind?? Words of book,? I think I remain as XYZ. (In everyone though... I'm No one) As.... Rat's nest Or Mirror of thousands dead leaf??? Pause. What m doing? Why is it necessary to define me? Why only end justifies the meaning?