‘ Pyramid Scheme ‘ – Poetry Verses Inked

fine art, painting
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Poetry

Pyramid Scheme

I’m wearing bows and arrows cos

you let me, you left me here with this

inheritance of junk and ready to

recycle yogurt containers i filled with

cement to receive compliments, it’s the

garbage they love most but don’t want

to pay for unless it’s vitrine’d

Somehow Houdini chose different problems

and I admire him for distracting

me and everyone else from

thinking about death in the too tired

way that fuels cosmetic industries

pays thousands for turning

grapes into grapefruits on his dime

i’m seeing less more but that’s down

hill i’m not confusing the triangle

with the pyramid, one is flat and the

other has people inside holding up

the base on their shoulders like  servants

multiplying agents like matrix men

grey to astound me grey to neutralize

to neuterize me, I’m paying

her to clean above

the poverty line

A Poem by Suzanne Goldenberg ( New York )

Desk: Declaring– A discourse on a poem by Fedrico Garcia Lorca

Also Read: Ray Bradbury – The Art of Fiction

Fake society
Artwork: Fake Society ; Artist: Nikola Jankovic ( Novi Sad, Serbia ); Medium: Pastel on Canvas

Ready – Set – Drift – Part 3

Dear Qi,

If you could retrieve my brain, presently nestled in some guarded orifice, you’d see how befuddled and convoluted it is. I’ve been using my anticipatory days, from the booking date till the final take off, to meet people who matter. People who wouldn’t question my actions to the point of collapse because they never understood my lack of reasons anyway. I’m trying to swim through the barrage of travel advice- from pre-booking to places NOT to visit to ‘substances’ to stay away from to cafes that matter to how much to carry and what not to eat, more dont’s than do’s. What if I don’t want to plan? What if I want the mountain to be my mentor? These winding roads have been treaded too trivially and often for a traveller seeking the uninhabited and undiluted. Hence, the hesitation to succumb to popular perspective.

My mind’s eye aches with the wonder of an infant, to see every step, served up on a platter, a first of its kind. I don’t want to lose my wonder in anticipation, in following dotted lines. I don’t want to miss the minutest detail in the changing landscape in the wait for a wanton station. I want to feed my lungs deeply and hungrily with the scents and sounds of  every passing second, that soothe my aching imagination with the balm of the unexpected. I want the bump at every interval of the road to throw me off my conditioned comfort and rattle and awaken me, still in awe of the unknown.

I know you understand me Qi, my inability to articulate my eagerness to wander, my agnosticism towards the burden of premeditated travel, my need for firing all my senses to life. I know that once I step out there will be no voice but my own to push me forth and pull me back. For you and for anyone who reads this, be with me, if not in mind, if not in body, then at least in spirit. I promise to experience every instance and celebrate it as a noteworthy passage of time. Perhaps together we may accomplish the spellbinding experiences to be printed on paper, as an indelible mark upon history.

Besides a shoulder bag full of clothing, a handbag stuffed with my gadgets and necessities (may seem slightly indulgent to you but I’m a woman), I’m carrying my 38″ Granada with me. This little leviathan shall accompany me under the star-kissed or moonless skies when I’m celebrating my solitude. I finally fly to Delhi tomorrow morning. I don’t know how long I’ll be there and with whom, but I’ll keep on writing here, as we together slide down this fine tapestry of adventure, even if so many seas apart.

Keep me in your heart,

PC

Priyanka Charan

the-world-before-her

Artwork: The World Before Her

Artist: Ana Mutavdzic