A Dream by Trisha Ghoshal

I saw myself in someplace i can only call an oasis. i knew i had landed there marooned from sort of a mishap.. this place though was funny..i found myself in a shack.. with an emaciated old man and a boy. i tried to get out of the shack but they wouldn't let me.. they kept fearing that a storm was on its way...

the wind outside would pick up momentarily and then die down.. i began to get claustrophobic and my head began to spin and swim.. at a distance i saw this lone tree in full bloom.. lush green swaying in the wind.. even when i couldn't feel the wind picking up.

then there was a blank and i found myself walking bare feet outside of the shack.. the old man stood guard with a stick guarding what looked like an old car long out of use.. abandoned there in the middle of nowhere.

I was walking barefoot  and the ground beneath my feet was clayey but coarse. In the distance the lone tree quivered and lashed every now and then. The air I felt was heavy, heavy enough to make its laden presence felt on my body as I walked past it. Yes, the air was heavy. The old old man guarding the abandoned car cried out behind me. I was expecting  the car engines to creak and echo. It was highly unnatural that it should sit there and brood and not creak. The absence of the creak echoed like drumbeats and my heart started to pound like drumbeats in my chest to make up.

The old man of course had spoken. Was it a stentorian prophetic call? Given how far away he was, it must have been. But in memories distances don’t count. And in dreams they do not even exist. So his voice comes back to me now feeble,rusty, full of false starts and sputtering.  Of the whole of the desert, he said,  this is where it rained. It rained and the tree yonder was born. It was born and it stands there swaying in living testimony. The rain wet the earth here, but she had no use for it. She retained no water and now in apology is nearly almost clay but coarse of no use. Nothing new is born here. The nothing of the old cannot be remade, how do you remodel nothing, there are not enough precedents.This place lies in indecision and we live with her, dying more, losing more, fading in indecision.  

Figments

The geniuses of life, dissolving in the imbecility within, slowly dying, slowly ending, so slow, an unrelenting  flow, a gradual demise, an importunity to surmise, the impermanence of existence, and its waning importance, importance so unconscious, the fading will to be pretentious, the pretence so livid, rooted deep and so vivid, but there is no exigency, for cherishing this delinquency, the delinquent mind and the delinquent soul, a mind a soul searching but nothing more, a frivolity with that same importunity, unknown and partial, indeterminable but all so parable, but what shall be the end of this endeavor, the same impermanence forever, but forever persistent is the strife for such an ephemeral life, an unjustifiable life, but still there shall be a battle, and all its spoils………



Homage

Precipice it is, precipice of a life,
The further they go into the relentless strife;

For every breath, for every draught under the cosmic scorched,
For every stride with sweat bled feet, a feet so torched;

Revel and revel, the contrivance of a deep revelation,
Utter dismay precipitating from every divine animation;

Sickening it is, all so malaise, conniving in and colluding out,
With vigor, with brawn, the reverberating clout;

Rise and rise, ascension to the unholy reverence,
Of bereaving self, of dilapidating might, claudicated hence,

Athirst it is, athirst so bright,
Dine in, within, the dissolving light;

Blithe are we, blithe as ever for nigh is the blade to sever,
For licentious it is, near the human precipice…….

Fractured Eternity

The mundane seeks reprisal over the peerless, shall there be peace, 

 

None in me heart, none in me soul, to every petitioner his own role, 

 

To ours is incarceration, to the underbelly of emancipation........ 

 

We shan't survive without that peace, to thy shoulder that caravan cease.......

On A Sun Tanned Night

Dropping fates, cracking lives, cleaved minds, the blood keeps reverting to my eyes from my heart;

Every length of the seething pleasure of your thoughts searing through my vision ends at every breath I take;

They were my breath, and they now stop, choking, croaking, tightening the noose, a sight of you my reds ooze;

Limping across a meadow of a surrealist’s corpse, leaping bounds and fathoms over your entailing thoughts;

The blood covered gregarious in frivolity, are my dreams of leisure, an escape to my caninity;

No redemption, no salvation, just an inherent trepidation, a trepidation of sorts, on my shadow you gave myriad blisters and warts;

Etching with a sword across the rosy bosom, within me now a thousand hatred hold ransom;

Tearing the skin, shredding the flesh, eating on my core, your every tooth afresh;

With every wound, with every scab, with every delectable scald, I pick them, I bite them, licking the pain appalled;

Cry not when I stab you on your temple, cry not when my blade bares your rouge within;

Cause I shall pull the threads with eternity to spare, cause I shall marry your peace to my snare;

My dark, my noir, my solace of hate, shall sever, shall never benefactor thy fate…………..

 

My Mother

From the sores of birth, to fulfillment so dearth;

From writhing to raise, to the unwarranted praise;

From the amour so terse, to the reverberating curse;

From the cleaved nascent cord, a taint of thy lord;

Of all the prophecies of the Oracle, hopelessness to the brim of your crucible;

Passing every moment in the vain of devoid, the imperative of my fate to avoid;

Nigh is the time for the inevitable fracture, with belief and wishes to nurture;

But a moment to steal for the sense, for a rainy prelude to the severance;

Not deserving the droplets of the heart, not demanding the couplets of thy art;

Devouring on your crimson serous, prodigy to prodigal is less amorous;

Parting to departing an underlying cleavage, cascade for the scars of the lineage;

From the bruises of the intangible castigation, bleeding from the false lamination;

To all the inanimate acrimony, to the scrupulous soul it were all a ceremony;

Below the lament of all the smother, lies the halo called My Mother.....

To Thy Bosom My Solace Lies

Dead are those days,
 
the shimmering nights, the shadowy lays,

Dim isn't thine halo, like the setting Sun,

But lack no luster from me heart,

For this shall beat and shall live where thee art.......

Placebo

Every strand, every joint, every ounce of breath, every sight, every sound, every touch across the length;
Every word, every step, every thought I bear, every tear, every frown, every simper I hear;
Every love, every hate, every ego I savour, every illusion, every life, clasping pains of myriad flavour……..

Lurching from my pain to yours, wallowing in my blood then yours, writhing in my pleasure and guffawing at yours;
There shan’t be a mitigation, there shan’t be a salvation, just a hollow dictation, just an empty incarceration;
It must bleed, it must heed, to the call, of my fate’s fall;
Arousing the cataleptic within, unwinding and serene, sometimes grotesque and galore, mostly a picturesque allure…….
   
Failing every evasion, baring every invasion, daring every ravish, a mirage to the parish;
The tiding malady, the morphing tragedy, within the laceration a drunken revel, within the charred embrace I grovel;
The silhouette, inside my pastel closet, a revelation of sorts, within my fantasy the gripe contorts;
I lie myself to sleep, I cheat my peace to leap, I bluff my tears to smiles, I hallucinate my Eden over miles…....

Blood to elixir is differing none, I wake the dusk to the slumbering sun, gadding across my self-belief of life, fallacy of my saviour’s strife;
Bribing relief into a harlot’s shoe, artifice bidding the maxim adieu, swerving within my illusion's bosom, kissing every delusion’s blossom;
Believing the presence for absence, ostracizing light in defense, conniving with the actualizing dope, plundering my immodest hope;
I need the last measurable pacification, saving the animated abjuration, losing every ends of bravado, my bereavement is my Placebo………….

To The Bright Sun Set

I am off to the shores of dismantling glory, to reap solace, to reap pace, to the decadence, to the stupor, with hope, with fervour, with undying will, to the blotted endeavour.......... !!!

Adieu......

Assorted ways of the assorted days, shimmering eyes, glittering breaths, affluent tongues, lively ails, hollow faces, tethered souls, for the dying minds were the life flows…….


Having eaten my share of pain, having drunk on my share of blood, having wombed my share of insanity, having killed my share of love……..


Fallen, disdain, malaise, where the simper lies, the eluding ends of the stupor’s visage……


Unearthed, unveiled, beyond the conspicuous vigour, the insurmountable labour, seething, severing, You, I, Us, where the inanimate die, where the light darkens, where the tears cry, where the dearth lie…...


Shall I not stare, at thy undying glare,

Shall I not feel, thine unrelenting zeal,

Shan’t I not leave, for death to weave,

A fairy tale, my last ale,

Sipping and simmering, within me a smile nearing,

Hold me till I not end, till this moment not bend,

In glory, in a story,

The end of our titter, the red stained letter..........