INTERDISCIPLINARY PRACTICE

WHO MADE WHO

Cold soul, foul wins
old ghosts, scraped dreams
dry leaves, acid rain

all decked up, nowhere to go

dancing with the shadow of my ghost

the altercations, the fights with my conscience.

I love the voices of evil in you
I love the way you crumble into parody

I love you more when you are bad

I laugh the way you smooth into the sky

that is as endless as
as your whims to deceit.

Do I protect myself from what I want??
the rush, the rasp, the greed
surfaces before the storm
embraces my nocturnal cry

Do I scream??

Do I lament??

in mute

I smell the highs of dirt

under the contemplations, the bad moods, the sly grooves
the have-nots and have-to’s, the night shouts
the trips, the chaos, the drunk moods

the traffic running in the head
the agony, the angst

the smooth lie, the soft truth.

I hear the paradox of laughter
underneath the exuberance

the carnival

the dance in trance

that’s all part of the fabric

the anxiety woven so tight, it defies dimension.

the see but don’t feel, the know but don’t tell
the air locked inside, breathes in isolation

and then

their sporadic sparks

Here I am animated, energised

healed.

Trying to cage my rotten dreams

hustling out with spontaneity

incomplete beings in me

appear like assertive spirits

capturing inert bodies

the unvarnished in me

often pulls me out of misery.

It’s not the past that ache my future
It’s in the present that I get triggered
24 hours a day falls short to my instinctive flow
trying to unveil what was meant to be

the smell of memory that makes me a child again
so beautiful, so grounded
dreams, streams across the glamorous landscape
the band of brick, dust, and desert
a busted ceiling, a clock that stopped interacting with time

tossing and turning,
as my bandaged soul stands trial.

Now you want to be free??
from the stains?? From the scars??

futile and naïve
as every single inch of you is my claim.

What’s the cost of triumph?? What’s the fate of fame??
Who cracks the path? Who hears the moan??

Who reads the empty page?? Who sings the absent song??

Who bestows the fight??

Who turns me on??

Come as you are, the friend inside me

cause, I love you more when I see you in pain…

Ayan Mukherjee