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!

        

Page torn from the Diary: Gypsie Travelogues : In Short: A Letter

Dedication: "At sunset, on the river bank, Krishna
Loved her for the last time and left...

That night in her husband's arms, Radha felt
So dead that he asked, What is wrong,
Do you mind my kisses, love? And she said,
No, not at all, but thought, What is
It to the corpse if the maggots nip?"

To Consciousness,

                                Dear You. Haven't met you for days, ages, time's chore... unending nights stole you from me, you see? The misty chill of frothy remembrance, some memory trapped in the memoirs of paranoid resemblance cuts off reality. Distance screams, scary eyed dreams, smoke trapped consciousness, how have you been? Time meanders across the miles, like a corpse dried motif in surreal style, roads changed to nightmares, darker agile.. I changed my me, a drifter by now, they know this indifference, not the why or how's! Elusive am I? Oh Consciousness, stale is your epiphany, wild lurks your gaze... Have I been oblivious of living... in a maze? Pardon me Consciousness I am late, the last boat sailed, the last star slept!
                                You awake? On the shore???
                                Conscience (still) knocks my door
                                 Fire froze , illusions dazed ,
                                 Memories chased, passed and more  
                                 As we see "there" instead of "here"
                              Dear Consciousness  can you hear????
                    
    The rattles of wind, roars of fear as far as the eyes can see
    Noise of fire, blows of admire as though hope mock and flee
    Drums of silence, roads crossed in tear, the drudgery of smiles, afraid to be near
    I am drawing the canvas of perception from the hemlock strains
    Where Imagination is obscured from the love locked veins
      Conscious Consciousness, I am on the edge of your calf, jubilant highs and pensive lows,
     Plunging into depression with making up steel brows
     Still I Know I can't stop, will fight the way until the last drop 
     Smothering my will, I choke my words, that once chose the poesy of life.

                                                                                               From Bohemian Antigone. (Forever Yours)

 
                              

For Those who have Learnt to Listen to the Unheard, Unexpected Voices..

.

. Isolation is my epitaph,Alienation I say, Solitude my Better half, idealism my way!

• A

Of naked depressions, of Joyride vanities, of hysteric quick witted slaughters

Of short breathed recoveries, of charged up toxicities, of bombarding numb laughters.

Of living by thoughts of existential droughts; of Narnia journals trajectories!

Of sandstorm decadence of asphalt treats of dreams, though torn raspberries.

Of Solitary travelogues of Kafkaesque transcendence, of endless "I Live" feats;

Of Themes, Of motifs, Of flames of surf Of swim swam like blue retreats...

The dreams, symbols and Tidal waves, Smokey hallucinations, obnoxious consciousness: do have a consensual mating.. will you??

• B

Of realms and overwhelms Of scary witches, dreary traces.. the ugly faces do I dread

Of meandering silhouettes of gray, silver linings, Of detachments songs am I Dead?

Of Lost opportunities, lost possibilities of mutual masks we wear, and the makeup we don'

Of Frozen seas, of quietude flees, of subversive front fears ...and the wages for con!

Of epidemic like moods, of licentious shrouds.  And the happiness that was never born.

Of the Walls of Bethlehem, of Prophetic wisdom, Move On or you Mourn..

• C

Of tempest upsurges, of long distant calls, of sinful knowledge of moonlit strolls

Of benevolent bridges, of clairvoyant balls, of nymph like the bondage of night star falls.

Of pastness of the past, of the cries of the unjust, of the words spoken last, of surface peace bursts

Of  Iron gates of Fate, of forced obliterate dates, of deception point crates, 

Of Silent Drowns Of unheard screams of lost symbolic states.

Do have a ride with me sometimes, will you?

Old New Year. How far is the land of happy lot? The world of Forgetting by the world forgot..

As this New Year goes back to the pavilion the Old year arrives.. (Yes, you haven't read it wrong), Nothing seems new, nothing: shattering illusions, stand like bizarre monochromatic rusted purples of attainment of self knowledge. : Let Ibsen explain if he can why the building of happy homes isn't the Ultimate destiny of man!...
 তুই চলে যাস একবার .. ছেড়ে যাস বারবার...      Solitude thrives to be a pedestal towards what "they" term: lack of psychotic neurosis I normality! I am not Unfit, Misfit serves the purpose. Existentialism runs through this freedom craving brain, engulfing yet transcending the self walled barriers of time, place consciousness.. Of the cross roads of counter culture,. Pulsating, brimming. ও বিষাদ বার বার হাতে হাত রাখো..ভয় নেই হারাবার যদি পাশে থাকো ...আমি যদি ভিড় হয়ে যাই।।।
Self preservation and destruction are not merely antonyms, they have a conspicuous camaraderie with my sense of self. I have chosen to learn the second one. I am destructing myself, self willingly; as I say it’s an art. You gotta have guts for that. I have. I have nothing to lose. You can snatch nothing else from me. I am desperate. Lonely, without any hope of Resurrection.
I am lonely, solitary, lost contact with those who knew, Her:

Adrita may be her name. It is the time for self indulgent mavericks of self reflection... I am Solitary.. The way I desired! Yes self chosen, imposed by the circumstantial web. U term them intricacies, I put them as fate. I have blocked the doors that vowed to bring Life; again defined by You. I am indulging in the art of Self destruction. Clinging onto the old desires, Sorry Singular. Only one desire. (In no case you are going to fulfill, why do you need to know?) I just want to shut down. Close up and go away into myself for a while. I want to not exist until I'm ready to be real again. I want to be in a coma, just close my eyes and not wake up for weeks, months

ঘর কেন ঠিকানা হারায় ? কে তা জানে।।

"Let us go then, you and I/ When the evening is spread out against the sky/ ---Let us go then through certain half deserted streets.. through muttering retreats." The unravinquished dilemmas do give way to the reinvention of memories. I feel like a vigil idiot at times. A saboteur of unfulfilled aspirations.

The doors won't be opened. Go away! Shoo... I am an outsider, a stranger in this strange world of furious abstractions... abbe-rations, where bridges give way to roads which crosses the lines, yet worlds never meet, roads don't give away to the doors to open up-to me and welcome. Upsetting the status-quo, have had been more exciting than following the well traveled road. Some presence of the loss, of the absence is eternal They reiterate with time. Nothing seems new, not even hopes.

Blank eyes never speak, Life at times is a sea of sounds: records Moments. People. Words. Silence is the new language. Time. Faces. Masks. Gray. Even Language dies every 14 days. I do so!...

And you want to travel with him And you want to travel blind
And you think maybe you'll trust him
For he's touched your perfect body with his mind.

I move into the world of alienation to find myself, one is company, two is crowded. I go out, for me it is exaltation, profuse, and profound. I go in Search of solitude...
             

I Learnt....

Life, sorry time has taught me lessons, specific ones that I cannot forget, let alone, remind my subconscious to  refill the same with a magnitude to forget. I must jot down,  before I allow my ever wandering mind to forget, the lessons of a lifetime as they are!

• People build too many worlds and not enough Bridges, ; 
• It's funny: people who know the least about you, have the most to vomit.
• One can have anything; if one can sacrifice all; (life will gift you all the bitter experiences for the arousal of your consciousness)
• To remember, we must FORGET! 
• We meet people for Reason, in my case: LESSON.
• People criticize you for being different, but deep down the psycho-Neuro chess obscure, they desire they had the courage to be like YOU.!
• It's better to be alone, solitary than being like them (best friends) who lack a "self" slave mentality!
• What does not kill you; makes you Iron strong, at times so much that people consider you to be cold, emotionless! 
• Some barricades are forever, one of the self; no-one dares to cross, no-one desires to undress your conscience, and make love to your thoughts,: what consumes my mind; controls my life.  
• Life operates by the fuel of loneliness, despite all the opiates,
•  The shrill tinsel gaiety of "parties" without the sense of purpose, the false grinning faces we all wear.
•  And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter - they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.
• You and I are like islands in the sea, separate on the surface, but connected in the deep: To you from me

• It's better to keep silent than tell others how exactly you feel! They can hear you, but not understand.
•   One day you suddenly realize you can share no more. You have become quiet. .. Like a cancer silence  grows!
• Welcome to the lost world! You are on your way to neurotic traumas. They kill you: memorize every moment, yet you can't cry, you can't share. And they start calling you STRONG, INDIFFERENT. 
• There's a difference between loss and lack. The emptiness inside is less, and the vanishing of the essence itself with all its magnitude and decrepitude is lacking. Lack is the absence of the whole. I desire a lack of memory.  
• You need to be where you belong, err, Homelands... take me home.
• It's hard to let go, when someone is a Part of you.
• I belong to someplace else, some other world;  nothing else matters. 
• Chance encounters keep what us going.
• It's too easy to be strong, it's hard to be vulnerable. Vulnerability breathes life, makes you love, trust. 
• Wild, irreparable grief? Unquestioning acceptance? Complete integration? Yes, I dwell amidst these..
• Silence is the only peace

More to come.