Darkness, imprisoning the concept of a reject on cassette deck,
In trance of the romance that was planned with slow jam
Intrusive; commuting through the rubik’s cube of illusion,
Fusion; renowned obstruction to the thunder in the blunder of conundrum
Sun burn? The festival?
We find ourselves in.
Creativity takes a hit.
We are perishable; an unfulfilled myth.
No sounds come out to the ones that were supposed to be hits,
Confused, not knowing where we go from here now;
afraid to be just a part of the crowd that thinks like sheep.
Purpose? Our bus leaves soon on the highway that lights a way;
and is light years away on a day that comes soon.
Will we get around it; fight it off with love that we fight to cling on to,
leaving no doubt that the thoughts we feel when stated out loud
are shrouds in a funeral pyre of desire and oceans in drought.
Give me answers. Give me something to believe in.
Dreaming? Mid life crisis. Young girl noises.
Poison if not positioned right.
Give her light: She is her own light.
And she dances like an angel tonight.
Rise.
Himanshu Chakravarty Sharma / मंच 