Wake up, brave sleeper,
Thor’s hammer strikes the midnight’s gong,
Wake up, slave reaper,
And heed not the sleepy cradlesong
Wake up, destiny’s unlearnt mistake,
And in the milky moonlight bathe thy ebony hide,
Awaken! You fool! Your existence is fake,
Awaken, and follow the rising tide
Walk on the thread on which you let clothing dry,
Walk on the hollow construction girders,
Walk on, against your equilibrium’s cry,
Walk! I command you, And commit seven murders
Step over sanity’s restricting threshold,
Step over see-saws and step over swings,
Step over to this side, come now, be bold,
Step on the instincts your drowsy conscious brings
Saunter, across these ill illuminations,
Beyond these, there are great fields of corn,
Tread across the roads that join great nations,
Damnations! You should’ve heard that big truck’s horn!
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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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