Volume 4 Issue 2, June 2020
Special Issue for Indian Poetry
1. This rising fire.
Born of sparks between my fingers and your nape. The combustion of a householder’s life is free fall into hollow blackness.
Taste the ginger juice in our lip-lock and caustic liquid running in my veins. How have the years silently laid the bricks of our mansion?
The furnace of all devouring flame boils time in the pot located in my perineum.
Can’t you see this madness? The rising mutiny of soldier ants. Our city has been seized.
2. The black arts
Self-concern is the root of all evil. The black arts are played through gambit impulses of self-preservation. Rain water droplets break on feverish tar asphalt roads. See the mad swirling ballroom dance of chance.
See my children, how enjoyable it is slide down in playgrounds. How strenuous is it to
climb. Hence, abandon yourselves. Delight kisses those who allow themselves to flow downward.
3. Red Flames Revolution
Lament for your land. Brood over the pathos of our widowed history. Smell the bile and sweat in labour camps and hot factories. Smell the summer stench of cholera infected ghettos.
Youth carries the baton of red flame revolution. Young romantic hands turn iron wheels.
4. The dancing witches.
Yes, it is enjoyable to drink maple syrup on hedonistic hill. The witches dance naked in frolic mindlessness. But do not squander all your days revolving around LSD laced groves of vinyl records. The sooner you wake the better.
5. Higher calling.
Nobel lion of Narnia beckons you for a higher cause. Your life was meant for something far greater than your petty prison self. Join the light workers and cathedral bells will ring again. Earth will vibrate with sonorous joy of angel Gabriel’s trumpet.
6. Elixir of healing.
Seekers of knowledge, the elixir is not found in mathematical study of constellations. Nor is it made from green chemical fumes rising from the occultist’s window. Those who have found the elixir, have reclined in pure love.
After sipping the elixir tormented soldiers have curled up like babies in the lap of Jesus. Bless our wretched lot for we are drinking the dragon’s breath to forget horrors of war. Bless us with wisdom, we seek to quench our thirst by drinking lava.
7. Homeward bound:
Return my brothers, come back home. Rest your weary backs against the trunk of old eucalyptus trees. Women wait for you in villages with unruly breaths. Their heavy, sad breasts hang putting gravity to shame. The dream-catchers long to meet you.
8. Gliding Eagles:
Only the wild lovers of wind shall know joy. Those who glide carefree like eagles. Break the prisons and stables! Let inmates and horses loose. Freedom is a birth right.
About the Poet
Akash Sinha is a Kolkata based poet and freelance advertising professional who collects experiences. He loves Zen Buddhism and alternative Rock. He loves broken people and torn socks. Featured on multiple literary blogs he is passionate about consciousnesses research, mental health and non duality.