IMPULSES LAID BARE We are a montage of memories-- memories that we so artistically camouflage in order to fit in. Our ability to perceive things as they are and the living power to re-imagine to conform to the superficialities are diametrically opposites. The poet prompts us to step right out, to have a day for ourselves and walk along the pavement amidst the "half-woken faces" --- faces drooping in the unfathomable depths of inexpressible emotions. The other half is as obscure as our concealed selves are, but the esoteric knowledge of it is only understood by those who have gone through such failed attempts to "keep the surface pristine" . And as a result, the "concealed cracks" seem to ooze into our reality and all we end up is a blurred perception of our real selves: the shadowlines of loneliness and isolation are now darker than ever before. The circular nature of loneliness binds us in and claws onto our walls, and its jaws has carnivorous teeth.