"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
Skin "Have you seen the Christ made of animal skin at Burgos? There's a very curious book, Monsieur, about those statues made of animal skin and even human skin." -Jean Paul Sartre The shepherds returned in dusts, Once again, we remembered We created Cactus, gave life. Its been raining needles on children, The gods bestow him
[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 - 5
On dunes of Prophet, a forgotten town.
A premonition of past, their present
A recurrence of future, their reflection.
Dreaming, they smiled to disappearance.
And into their fading skins
Dissolved their bones, hearts and bloodstains.
Our gods of skin, our skinless deities,
Our colorful gods and transparent.
We saw religion, chameleon, Satan,
Sin - tearing away our skin,
Cutting them to pieces, scattering
Where plants were born.
We learnt to make branches into leaves;
We made thirst our eternal nourishment
And we slept on the dunes of Prophet
Breaking into the dream of gods:
Colorful and transparent. Their united dream
- The Carnival Cannibalistique.
Petals have been covering their parents,
Distance has left lovers, uncovered.
Yet poets live in poets' dreams,
Awakened, awaiting Judgment Day.
One of us to be The Chosen One.
In their carnival town, untamed;
In their innocent dream of Noah:
Never realized, not completed.
The deluge - never quite over,
We all yet to meet our chances in dying
Save the Chosen One who shall not die:
One Poet as a specimen of midwives,
Watching with glad, glittering eyes --
Dreaming, baby Jesus giggle in our sleep.
posted @ 7:05 PM
MY OTHER BLOG
"Have you seen the Christ made of animal skin at Burgos? There's a very curious book, Monsieur, about those statues made of animal skin and even human skin."
-Jean Paul Sartre
The shepherds returned in dusts,
Once again, we remembered
We created Cactus, gave life.
Its been raining needles on children,
The gods bestow him