The journey of literature has continued from a long time. A journey of life. The freedom and the ecstasy of living it through. It’s physical, spiritual or the individual voyage of a man whose fantasies or the so called realties are the sole reason of his existence. Life itself is a journey which once starts is a way ahead and there is no turning back. The only way to be seen is forward. One new beginning and a graceful ending is what a mortal being like us can best hope for. As Shakespeare writes and I quote All the world’s a stage and the men and women merely players” so there are many journeys we all lead. Whether they are of struggle for freedom, astral journeys when you get overwhelmed by your own imaginations and your soul is no more in the present and part of your body or the journey to the spiritual world. Finding the inner truths. This all is life and literature is full of mythologies and legends to show us the perspective of our mission down on earth. Some journeys are meant to be the struggle between every minute. The claustrophobic present is the inevitable fate. A phase of terror delusional rifts in life and reality. Striving hard and clinging to your instincts. Where mind and body both have to combine the inner freedom to choose and to feel free and escape from the claws of the lethal present. To finally be the successor and emerge the victorious being to complete a physical and spiritual journey. The smell of the past still lingers bit it is the bright present that we prefer to live in.