She is the delicate string of hope
Stretched across in parallel with the horizon
With the kind of caliber and credence
That could put together this jigsaw puzzle of mahjong pieces
That my life has come to be,
Her iridescence can still limp and cut across
My moods like a train of falling dominos
In chain and in a chain reaction
Of radioactive diffidence that makes me unstable
And all the ligatures and linchpins holding together
My grandiloquent yet somehow grotesque self
Fall at her magnetic boots and I fall on my knees
And fumble to take apart the flaps on the cardboard box
That should have been labeled fragile.
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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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