Aura
A silent Pitchfork, a rubble outside
I am all that i have been, not so well connected
A galactic fusion over the rimmed walls
A paycheck for the month it's all a plaything
Poetry calls me often in the darkest night
A knowing edge surpassed me
As I went down the rabbit hole
This is the age of new thought protestants
A summer binder over at my glass
I know that butter cup lifelong simulation
Poetic engulfment is rising the aura is new
Of sub divisions and postmodern pranks
The fun we had at the treehouse jingoism
The subversion is all around my wretched watch.
Rampant
A dream of flower ridden blossom
The wavering chaos of the river run high
I escaped the drugged wish
Of melancholic numbness around me
The slit throated sky high buildings
Of consumer care and globalized madness
The sip of soma is adjacent
Life's little brittle mystery of strange alteration
A camphor of village ridden blush
The boat ride of everyday coming port
A slush for the modesty of eavesdropping sickness
Till the city learners the indoors of passion
The burning ghat still flames high
As the coming and going to this world is rampant
As poetic reverie bemused in silence.
By Sayani Mukherjee.
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