When Cleopatra was kissing the Helen of troy,
With all her intentions locked on seek-and-destroy,
Did she dawdle to think of Caesar or David,
Or what was his name? Do you know that boy?
I floated down with a bloke named James,
Over the waters of a blameless Thames,
He said he had a license to kill,
But I had no time for his fun and games
That was not my favorite song of the band,
Historical percussions I could not understand,
Under the rhythmic pulsations of the northern lights,
I stood naked, but I stood grand.
Far from all the eclectic and electric noise,
The lieutenant deployed a thousand sepoys,
He commissioned a mass voluntary suicide,
Their children now play with nothing but toys
I feel like a perplexed jeopardy contender,
My fears running down a reptilian meander,
Searching a question that answers the riddle:
Which one’s the goose and which is the gander?
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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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