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Is Langauge a way out or a cage? I wonder if writers ever feel dissatisfied with their tool of expression. Its very structure and it rules. It confines. It governs our very imagination. We give them forms by giving them names, tagging them into our systematic cage called: LAnguage. We give the world form yet we limit its possibilites. We use language so that we can own the world around us. As if we have control. 'Red'-means nothing. It is not a word. It is not a 'colour'. Nor is it an 'experience'. It can't be captured. But we construct that cage still, pretending we can contain it.