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Life in all its forms is always in struggle. We strive for something, and something else turns up. The basic question is why do we not cease to live? The hope that we’ll be happy – tomorrow, or perhaps, the day after tomorrow – supplies us the energy to continue to live. But happiness is the rarest of all other achievements in life. What we actually get in its extreme is just an illusory version of happiness. The poems in this collection are about these human commonalities which confirm that our susceptibilities to pain and sufferings are inevitable, and that we are not at the hand of any supple certainty. The poems imagine about the purpose of life, relationship, and the absence of deep trust in modern minds.