Obituary of Imagination

How do you mourn imagination? A tombstone on your heart? A plaque on your soul? Twelve days beneath the shadow of the night, mourning memories and me..
No …salty tears rushes past my cheeks….my soul bleeds in agony…my intimacy with death frustrates me….I can not weave my dreams anymore.

Dreams are not meant to be woven… dreams are accidents of the soul when life cannot carry you anymore…
I have woven dreams in words….have enmeshed its sweet pages…poetry flows in my blood…but now my words have ceased…sharp pain of failure,recurrence of failed endeavours…failure so dastardly ,pierces my heart… As my passion weeps gently…
the words are like fireflies, irreverent to the trap i spread for them… sometimes, just sometimes, i feel they are better off, hidden from my predatory pen…
They hide in labyrinth….labyrinth in my brain ….my heart immersed in nothingness vehemently searches for them..
but the sea of nothingness is like an ocean of meaning, where lost thoughts come to bathe… and my arms beat the waves of imagination, searching for the island of lost dreams…
Sea of nothingness is a sea strangely beauteous….the land of broken dreams…where the sun beats relentlessly …refulgence destroying…eyes….eyes so pulchritudinous…
A land where the dead tree gives no shelter
the bright sun is an ignominious blot on the surface of my mind, the shelterless trees, an autumn in spring… my mind is a jungle of thorny ideas. I hide them, to avoid getting bruised…
My bruises burn….burn in an anger of rage…wordly vistas pop in my mind…mind unfettered by chains….
I try to paint…but again I fail

and then I stop trying, letting my heavy heart sink like lead… and then I float, my fingers paint, and my letters form words and words form worlds. the fireflies lead the way,

while the trap lies forgotten…

– Shakya Bose, Akashleena Basu


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