once upon a second thought,
the third world sort of tripped,
upon the magic of its sudden darkness - tight-lipped
joyous and jubilant was its mouth, my only root
my only freedom gestured by its three-fingered-salute
it did not know its meaning,
cared little for time or space,
asked no metaphysical questions (while)
rearing our reptilian grace
i cannot ever repay it,
for how do you dissolve death's debt?
i can only love black women -
because it makes me forget.
- 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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