Sometimes I go in my wonderland While sitting alone or with my gang. That land is not a land of flowers, Nor a land of twinkling stars. That land has no house of sweets, Nor it is full of lighted streets. My land is where humans live, With true sense of humanity. My land is where there is a helping hand, To raise the fallen and let them stand. There is no one to pull you down, Nor the ones who scare you around, There is a freedom to ask and say, There is a freedom to release your thoughts and let them convey. Then I think why I have to go in my wonderland? Why can't it be the same where we stand? Before these strings of thoughts end, I find myself sitting again at the same place where these thoughts began. Why I have to go in my Wonderland.....??