You, the believer in alkahest
And the vivacious lover of base metals
You show them visions of an elixir
Then pugnaciously crush them with rose petals
Me, the believer in a higher quest
Me, the author of this intricate code
I’m the person you once destroyed
Who’s outsides burn and insides corrode
You practice the catastrophic alchemy
Of inhaling mercuric fumes of love
And as you slip into insanity’s refuge
I am slipping into closure’s glove
You, the cunning, conniving pseudo scientist
Me, the deceivingly innocent imbecile
I might have had some bugs in my cipher
But there are no hard feelings, there is no bile
I lie now amidst the rubble and debris
Of the contrivance I took apart to understand
That every word you said to me
Was a loyal accomplice in your plan so grand
You’re now addicted to universal solvents
And I sip coffee of the finest brew
I wish I had some thing to thank for
To you, the Nazi, and you, the Jew
But doesn’t it seem absurd to you?
Because to me it seems so queer
As I was once the alchemist,
And you, the reverse engineer
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- suraj sharma
- my mind, therefore, becomes this outstretched field of immeasurable serenity, which, although illuminated at angles awkward and unfamiliar to my eyes - is neither dark nor twilit. The strange lighting turns the vacuous foreplay of shadows chasing shadows into an euphoric, almost utopian feeling which is held in suspension as long as this configuration of appearances beckons the restlessness of reason ever forward into the uncharted hinterlands of imagination while at the same time compelling me to bless the lighting director.
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