There is something about a shout that calls it to the fore of the mind in moments like these.

When these visitors of exciteable presence transform the docile straits of my glacial countenance into the eye of a storm. 

When the nerves engage in an outrageously intricate dance that my fingers eulogise with jerky, unaccomplished jerking.

When the emotions overflow the boundaries of the alphabets that my pen scratches in between these lines. 

In such moments of vulnerability, of pure uncultivated rage i default to Freud’s ID

And let it all out in a showering bellow. Because that is the fullest articulation of the emotions that Ali their way into my gut.