Screaming outside my hotel room. A restless night. Culminating. In helpless screams. Of unknown people. Anguished. Full of unrest. Strangers. With disparate identities. With or without homes. With or without family. Strangely restless souls. Put together. By an ignorant hotel manager. On the same floor. Or is it. My imagination. Going wild. Wallowing. In sympathy. For the self. Finding expression. In the anguish of another. The noise in the other room. The shouting of my heart. Their voice of pain. My disturbed soul. Seeking an unknown truth. Seeking happiness. That never existed. Confined to a hotel room. Screaming. Shouting. Calling out. At a muted. But loud frequency. Audible only to myself. And other restless souls.
Hansal mehta 
Pulitzer prize stuff present.