Creativity Magazine


Posted on the 25 April 2013 by Aritrasen
white walls, full of framesdull paints withinmen in black suits inspectand praise the brillianceof a painter so famous.the young man confusedlistens to all his followers,stupefied by all he's expressed.looks at me, makes eye contact;we smile, he walks, a second glass in hand.i wash the pride that he vomits,the others have forced it in.he asks,"what do you think?"i say,"they're plain shit."
A cloudy night, deserted street
A light breeze, lost compass
Two hands direct the dance
as imagination plays tricks in solitude.
Every word uttered seems so powerful.
Like that book,
Always searched for but never read,
Stored in this jar to be chewed upon.
The drunks are home now.
So is every worker, greeted by strangers,
The mechanical boy overhears their fight.Glowing eyes of the natural free-runners.
Silhouette of the insomniac,
The ceiling looks so transparent, as
We count the flickering stars.
Flickering street lamps
Signal the arrival of a God.
Only a wind blows like love.
today it ends and we rejoice.
everyone is going to disappear
SAMUDRUTOPIAonly we'll remain. choice
is a cause of conflict and fear.
a strange word whose existence
i know not of, for i'm duality.
dialectics is the only sense
that prevails in me. my sanity
is your schizophrenia. so i say,
come with me my mirror
the moon doesn't want me to bay.
a month full of error and horror,
we're leaving it behind with smile on our face.
the bandages open, i'm not paranoid
the pain was real. we discard our nakedness
and together hand in hand dissolve into the void.

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