He was a tough nut to crack or rowdy baby with a penchant for logarithms of life near the oasis of a desert or over the fragrance of a dessert, the mixed media, the secret strings run rage at hot and cold springs and all that jazz. A compulsive dreamer of good life to all, he reserves his tears and solitude, to wake up a better dream in shrinking times because seclusion had scorched his wasted nostalgia, accumulated in his walk, talk and giving, forcing heartease to magnify, purify, sanctify,and ratify the sweet agonies.

                         Prasen in his template meta programming of poetry must be madly in love with it, he played with words in verse and reverse orders, chiselling and honing a trail of gossamer thin yet steel strong layers to forge this anthology as a commanding implement. His extroversion often dominates his inner screen and comes out in a gush of self-explanatory natural spring waters to purify the verbal weapon. He endears Marquez philosophy of -whoever stops pursuing dreams become old- Poet Prasen never stopped pursuing wakefulness or dreams in his journey in the worlds inner or outer.