Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Untitled #1

It is the same wretchedness that attracts fireflies and dispels logic. Of being blown into smithereens by tormenting sexuality and fascinating fortresses. Of cloying euphemism of tranquility, well-being, safe. The eroticism of joy. Liberation of unseen forms and curves. Desperate taste, violent blood. Shameful taste, violent blood. Primal pain.

Left out, crossed out.
Stamped damned.

It comes rushing it, and left behind dark.
Infernal dark.


_____________________________
We discussed 'Sohagini'r Shonge Ek Bochhor' by Binayak Bandopadhyay. She liked it.
I loved it.
Just like that.

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