Flashes of an invisible hope
Like sunlight peering in though eyelids shut
Sporadically sliced by each passing tree
Blessing eyelashes folded
(as if in a prayer)
I would like to drive away
From these seasons
Release all jokes tired of being laughed at
But I’m trapped!
In white light,
Pink noise,
And purple silence.
I wish she would never stop talking
I’m sick of hearing myself think.
- 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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