Please do not disturb this place of rest ... this place of self ... this place of discovery ... this place of dreams ...
They are not poems; they do not flow as such. They are not essays; they are not in any format. They are not novels; they are not long enough. They are not short stories; they have no plot. So what are they called, then? Just the mere word of "Scriblings" ... for that is all they are ... Scriblings of feelings coursing through me, scriblings of images, scriblings of the self, discovery, and of dreams ...