sculptures

Sunday, 18 August 2013

Sweetest Trance, I do not go, you are not a Friend, rather a Foe!


Unlike the overwhelming, Chinese chimeras, the unpredictable rains storm down. Yet the kicking up dust, the huge isolated drops of rain in sync with the reverberating rhythm were undiscerning in sweeping away two years of insurmountable drought.  Like a lumbering leviathan the winds travel.. Pools of shadow, scarred smokes scoops the palpitated half moons of water. The sky light thinning away, dusk and a thin plume of smoke rising from a stale cigarette fire. Dusk arrived, once again, paving their way to one level of consciousness: a deadened delusional one that I know is the vintage flu of fragrant madness. And in the watch tower like brain never evacuated from the sea cells: a metamorphosis debunked. And in the delusional mode ,everything starts changing almost becoming a mirage! The dusk Chronicle began...
.           A puff of initiation.. yeah, let me begin! Of lodgea prosaic bequeathed for all those who search her!
           The hunting repertoire of the black girl who blogs. I heard you say "men are haunted by the vastness of eternity. Their actions echo across centuries." So do our fleeting sense of living. We rise and fall like the winter wheat. Yes Black girl, the geek girl with big eyes and a tomboy! The most conscientious expert would find no sign of her today. Yes black girl, you remember her? I know time has snatched you from her! With a clear Conscience I tell you with a pure heart, once her colour was baby pink, now its grey. That’s what your eternal sunshine drove her to. Time is blotting paper. Sucks moments, feelings. Once again, she has started living on the edge! She despises all- life, health, luck, love and all that you connect to as normal or all that your wise documents regards as the good things in this world. Haven't I told you lately; you need to cling on to illusions to sustain Life? The Black girl has lost that wand which emitted illusions. Adorable Illusions I do not go, I dare not go!
Instruments of truth, Black Girl at times enlighten the soul, the dark alleys and the dungeons of heart where light penetrates no more. Rather the lightning of stark reality creates those muddy pools, an era of Silence as an Introspective Retrospection. Time demands time at times! That's the allegory of Time! Funny, eh? Yeah, too funny! So much so that at times she needs to shut down. Adorable illusions I Dare not go, I dare not dream! Black Girl, have youheard of Exiled Sanity? Yes, that's the Route to the roots, to the salvation. Dear Black Girl, displaced reality is the reluctant messiah that guides her. Black Girl you left her? She needs you Tonight. 
Black girl, you remember her? The little speck of pure dust? Supposedly from where we emerge and are expected to retreat? Yes, she is alcoholic now don't look at the mirror, you may not recognize! Fragrant wines that she once used to drink from the fragrances of poetry, has changed its course. Alcoholic she has been. Beauties as ethereal as the cloud capped star have pigeon holed themselves with ghastly metropolitan melancholy and robotic existence or even non existent! The magic of poetic ventures that visited her at night has been replaced by nightmares and the doldrums of hallucinations. She fags the lungs out of her. It gives her life. Black girl, you know what life is all about? She knew once. She was once in love with Life. No, no its no haunted, self pity labelled poetry. It's a journey archived from me identity to I Identity. Yet Life left her. All that the untiring thought of man has created in the ages is compressed into a small outlet in her brain. Life has taught her. She no more lives in illusions: all that you have self chosen and  taken -lies for truth, hideousness as the reflection of beauty! She bled Love whispered nymphs poured out her free flowing crescendos of Menstrual blood all over her body. Black girl, she has started loving her blood. That's all she's is left with. At the stamped and raped heart lay throbbing in the labyrinths of her "unfeminine body" her word tattooed breast echoes:  EXILE. On life's midway she got lost in the Black Forest. Black girl, your tresses are like the snares of the Black Forest. She has a super short Pixie Crop now. The hot shot T2 confirms the cut is unwomanly. So are her ways.  I told you she has changed. Let me count Three years or more?
 You may not know her now Black girl. She has started living on the edge. I know you won't believe me. After  all, you never saw her in the current times. Her dancing to the rhythms of sultry numbers. She wanted to catch those moth smoke, yet mountains never echoed! Yeah certain things never change. Even now she loves solitude. Yet living on the edge. Let that moment appear when she shall have been in the tunnel of light. She has ample to say black girl, dust canopied travelogues telegraphed by the passing winds. Yet Adorable Illusions She must not go... You will wait Black girl? Seek? Explore?  You dare? I have forgot to tell you, she is a sniper now!


        

2 comments:

Arpita Paul said...

Read it once. Then again. And again. I feel, the black girl must remember that her dear life has NOT left her. NEVER DID! Had the colour black not existed, how on earth would we grasp the significance of all the seven colours of Vibgyor? Would LIGHT be that interesting to you if you had not witnessed darkness, pitch-black darkness? The black girl is beautiful in her own special way, and Im sure is she explored a bit more.. even being a sniper, she'll start LOVING LIFE like she did once.... FOR YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT SWEET SURPRISES LIFE CN BESTOW ONE WITH!
PS: LOVED IT, AS USUAL. CONGRATULATIONS FR UR POWER OF EXPRESSING.

Antigone = bohemian rhapsody! said...

i never told you perhaps, little one your comments are precious! The Black Girl! ahh! Shes Strange! The rest is silence!