hi all, well here i am, figuratively, fiddling while Rome burns. Mihir Mysore expects me to come up with a 10000 word play for the institute dramatics contest by tonight. progress?
let me put it this way. there are to be two acts and an intermission. i've just about finished the intermission.
Chestnut!
anyway, having tasted the forbidden fruit of free versification i just had to have another go at it. this is what did/did not ensue...
A literary abortion
The poet grimaces, head in hands
Gazes despondent at his juvenile scrawl
Digits on the watch metamorphose
One into the other as political alliances
While his mind races, the intellect drills
Alack! the track is a circle, the soil barren
Fold the foolscap, twice tear symmetric
Bury the corpse with averted eyes, unsung
Consigned to oblivion at the verge of utterance
Inchoate thoughts march solemnly to their Bardo
As the Muse, coquettish, withdraws her lips.
A literary abortion.
Out beyond the ideas of right-doing or wrong-doing there is a field - I'll meet you there.
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About Me
- Nisheeth
- I is a place-holder to prevent perpetual infinite regress. I is a marker on the road that ends in I not being.
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