As the night deepens, I barricade myself inside the low roof rectangular four walls, locking and looking exasperated after a day’s toil. The windowless house has not been painted for years, from inside and outside. I still have no complaint, as it still continues to shield me from the howling dogs, rains, winds and cold, round the year. Inside, while I am asleep, the narrow skylight goes on allowing oxygen inside, expelling the carbon dioxide and other stinks of the enclosed space of mine. Seeing the faint rays of the incandescent lamp that escape through the purposefully designed porous cement slab latched on to the concussion on one side of the wall, people believe in my existence and doubt about my presence, when the lights go off. But, actually, go to sleep irregularly to plan for a very bright future from the next morning. When I fall asleep, I dream a lot, in the pitched dark envelope; inside the skyward empty column. It is very personal and familiar for I have lived here long being assured of safety and unexplained gazes of the neighbors and passerby. After I close the only wooden door from inside, I try to break my monotony at night, by trying to discover the end of the light and beginning of a dark, near the frame of the skylight. I find it discouraging as it gives you no clues of the extending outside. During the days, though; the hole on the wall above me brings for me much hopes. Sun-rays, dusts, moisture, smokes, insects, voices of people or the skies; that enter the opening, make me feel connected as a living example. Whether, it is day or night; the skylight of my room, is always umbilical to me and my being. However, I know, this is not an escape route.