Beyond the gaps in the bricks we see the fields
Beyond the prism of reality we believe the myths
When we are ruled by an invisible whip
Intoxicated on money and money alone
We live in houses that are no longer homes
We are also the bricks in the walls
Walls of schisms,
Prisons.
Patriarchy.
Casteism.
Remember when we used to sit back and dissect the world to ends?
I still, remember, my old friend.
Where did you go? Did you survive?
“My sacrifice” and “behind blue eyes”.
Or was it Time by Pink Floyd? Was it all Pink Floyd?
Each call answered to get to the goal.
The target; the mission; the ever lasting applause.
Who knows where their gods will be?
Mine is right here, in me.
Subterfuge. A fugue; a dying man that keeps on livings’ refuge.
Politics is patience. Healthcare is socialism.
Life is service. Find your poison.
The Renaissance man runs.
Artillery shells and guns.
Mix all the clips of the favourite movies together;
Along with all the women loved and unloved;
And put them on the casserole to play the movie of life.
Home; home again. Why did I consider you a friend?
I play for no one; I seek no help.
These words are not for you; but to find myself.
Himanshu Chakravarty Sharma / मंच 