"She whispered her evanescence into me.
She would meet me in the valley, too
When she would be passing by
On the day of the bursting bubble
She would sleep upon my heart
Sing songs of melancholia to me
Taking me to...."
MY OTHER BLOG
"You The dusk stood leaning by my balcony, A plot of preoccupied dreams Forgetting. A chant for the unforgiven. I forgot how long I slept on the petals, "Reality is the hurting light. Untamed.
[Best viewed at a screen resolution of 1024 by 768 pixels]
MAGICIAN: The Clown
BIO: I'm living inside my shadows and trying to study the effects of darkness on my skin..... if only it was rashes, if only it was rust, if it was a tattoo....... If I could write poetry.
"My tribute to the world of magical realism. Where Imagination, too, is imaginary. The world of paradoxes and fallacies. Standing on the edge of the dreams. Falling asleep. Falling. A fall against gravity. And suddenly you realize that you have transcended space and now, are falling in time. To the beginnings of eternity. Illusions."
When Darkness Blinks
"A blog where I just keep on posting some of the random scribblings that I do. They are just some pieces of flash fiction that I scrap most of the times and forget. I use them most often as an outlet to by accumulating emotions. So, you can't really expect anything good out of them. But, at least, I'll feel I'm still breathing."
Facades of The Carnival - 3
Glimpsed soldier of fortune
Sweeping their footprints
With branches of mistletoe.
You showed them the corpse garden
Madness, you brought it home."
- Yusef Komunyakaa
About to fall, onto the streets,
Shattereing into a sleep on a soft, cosy bed
Of rotten petals. Leftovers. Age-old.
Claimed this empty garden.
The flowers, perhaps, have been stolen
Or maybe they have run away
From the breeze, and from themselves.
I had once run away from myself ...
I don't remember clearly,
Perhaps, I was too, Stolen with the flowers.
An eternity of fireless smoke
Where I disolved, uncomplicated.
People came searching for my corpse.
They found none but claimed my heartbeat.
Later they realized - I was their first dream;
That I had rented their fantasy;
That they have inherited me, created me.
So, they returned home one night, realizing
That threy have become gods;
That Jesus too, lived in their fantasy.
But woke up last dusk
Hearing heavy breathing of tiring souls.
I recognized my poems in their depths:
As if all my infinite characters;
All my innumerable faces
And even, my faceless masks have converged
For an oath we shall share in common -
Death shall end reality, rendering us imaginary.
And then we live on a soft, cosy bed
Of other's memory of ourselves. Liberated.
For its not our heartbeat that keeps us alive
But our memories. We breathe as history does.
So, let's take an oath, for paranoia of pains,
And fashion euthanasia before we slay."
posted @ 7:18 PM
MY OTHER BLOG
The dusk stood leaning by my balcony,
A plot of preoccupied dreams
Forgetting. A chant for the unforgiven.
I forgot how long I slept on the petals,
"Reality is the hurting light. Untamed.