Monday, November 30, 2009
Never knew what will happen to these words of wisdom, a five minutes outpouring wound on this sanitary napkin paper. On this backpage- I am confused obverse or reverse- I desire to gush out the turbulence in a loud and leviathan amount. But it is impossible to overcome the aspects of mortality and give form to the sap of thoughtful existence. I love to think of erasing myself from this parchment and make use of prophylactics-the arch disgracer of william empson- to cut out the nuisance of useless progeny . It only replaces I. It swallows. It creates. It unearths. It permeates. It hollows the dome of restless encounter and secretes a fatal nectar. An elixir of death! A liquid hope, a transient assurance, a cavalier charisma. It is Brahma, or brahman and one, the I ,we surrender to it.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Untitled
To talk of love is no consolation, although it is an obsession unmitigated.Several times it has surfaced and simmered down for lack of voice.
In a thatched hut of unalloyed poverty resided a Golden Eagle, very wise and verbose. It had flown from distant canyons and traveled with travails, before it settled down in a cage of earthly love.
Once, it decided to clip its withered feathers and break its bent beak. Upon that instant, a distant knock fell on the door.
The sage-like eagle regally awaited this moment. It sighed love! Said "Love".
The Eagle closed its eyes, opened the door and let the chilling wind settle in.
_________________________________________________________________
In a thatched hut of unalloyed poverty resided a Golden Eagle, very wise and verbose. It had flown from distant canyons and traveled with travails, before it settled down in a cage of earthly love.
Once, it decided to clip its withered feathers and break its bent beak. Upon that instant, a distant knock fell on the door.
The sage-like eagle regally awaited this moment. It sighed love! Said "Love".
The Eagle closed its eyes, opened the door and let the chilling wind settle in.
_________________________________________________________________
Thursday, November 5, 2009
INVENTORY
While the heart pines
And eyes on a misty dream do sail
Body lingers on a beautiful song
Soul, too swift, too tender, too frail.
Love found an ancient turn
To wave, to weep and went.
While I searched sequestered scenes
For fulsome atonement.
A heavy duplex fog-memorial,
I find, was founded on memory.
Your frowns, your smiles, your surreal sounds
Benignly buried under me.
Since then, comely questions raised
In flesh and blood, I brood no more.
A mall of mega-sale morbid inventory
Displays distant dandy dummies of yore.
___________________________________________
Omkar kulkarni
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