Just like the man who never cried,
I floated much like a sinking feather,
Downwards and onwards to a greater genteel,
Through the atmosphere, and it’s weather
Their irreconcilable differences,
Like a dogma flowing through the police blotter,
A dichotomy of affairs in decomposing nervous systems,
Ink jumping out of a floating wall of water
The redeeming signs were gift-wrapped in apology,
And a deserted alibi at the pivotal square,
Truth, wants the man who never cried,
Not this silent night gift-wrapped in nightmare
He’s shaped like a boomerang that didn’t return,
Or an alarm clock that sounds like a didgeridoo,
The man who never cried would know what it looked like,
If only had he ever been to a zoo.
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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.
1 comments:
"The man who never cried would know what it looked like,
If only had he ever been to a zoo."
I like this part!
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