It's been a long time since I've written anything.I've always maintained that writing for me has always been like child-birth,there is a proper time and place to conceive the idea, followed by a perilous labour during which one is acquainted to the queer joy of feeling the presence of another individual with a mind of her own,in oneself. Over the past half year,I've been searching the answer to a peculiar yearning within me in numerous futile sessions of vodka and marijuana. Futile they really are,further,they accentuated the feeling of this overflowing,stuffed emptiness within--empty of expressions and filled with this eerie presence of something,sorry someone,a woman,(all works of beauty is feminine,in fact beauty is feminine),within me.
Omniscient TIME,my great worship TIME had chosen a queer venue for the birth of HIS latest muse--it was our last mid sem exam and she had to see the light of the day then.( I am slightly sorry HKC sir ).
I must quell any salivating gossip monger here. The term 'Pratyusha' referred to shortly has no connection to any earthly mortal namesake--the term is an idea that has germed in me since eternity,an idea I experience in blessed rare moments of meditation,an idea that eludes me in my desperate attempts to emulate a 'vision' with alcohol or marijuana induced hallucination.
You are a big time loser if you've ventured thiis far into this gibberish,but if you have by any chance dear reader,just make note,anything that you might read below,good or bad,whether it elevates your hidden spirituality or opens up the beast in you,everything below is dedicated to GAURAB BHAI MUKHERJEE.
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CASTLE IN THE AIR
Moments,like waves they hit
'cross the blue expanse of pain
The Castle I'd built
Dreaming through 4 minutes in IEM.
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The Castle had bore the brunt too
Ere moments bequeathed events
Through surges of War,hatred and Love,new
Real or not,all linked by desire currents.
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Pain is its lonely neighbour
A friendly neighbour too
Screening wandering ships of wonder
Checking in a select few.
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The ones that Joy cannot pollute,
The ones purer than sorrow
Sparkling,like Pratyusha's eyes
Brighter than any precious gem ,
The searing pain that poets salute
And the World will,tomorrow
The castle's stinking scar the critics eye
The scar moans,but proudly,IEM.
