I am not a desolate man..nor a lonely man..I am not also a sea port.. where no ships land and shelter..I am not a lighthouse..isolated and left solitary near the sea bare sea rocks..I have enough number of friends...whose value I knew or have not known..forg otten or not forgetten...I have also a spouse...I found in my late years of life..I am just a wounded man...sometimes by you...sometimes by your words..or sometimes by spades or pick axes...at first...a needle had past through my tiny fingers...I do not remember when....when I was just beginning to walk...my sister told me once.... trying to give a sewing machine a caress...Then when I was attending to my boarding school...a pick axe fell on my feet... when we were hunting the locusts in the garden....with my new friends.....years later then...glass pı erced my wrist and lips....I lay in the infirmary for weeks....skipping my lessons...in fact I am not so naughty...just eager to see....be a friend be...just a wounded man...when ı retired as an old grown up man.... I was very stunned...break my left hip bone...falling on a pavement stone....I am not a man alone...when my friends lefty this boring world....one by one....I regret....being alive...living blind and lame...not knowing...where I am going...and destined to....That is what I am....I am not a man desolate and solitary....I am just a tired man...and wounded deeply...mostly the words wound me....especially the words of my friends and special ones hurt me...injure me...deeply and sadly....I) ha ve not chosen this life of mine....what a pity...I will leave it one day some day....wounded and feeling a bit guilty...
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