A Dadaist Dream, A Realist Night/ Pov 2
White horses, white horses
by Sayan Sengupta
Through the night through the night.
And nothing but that.
Cut tails and you're something else! ! !
six rivers along the way.
One black, one brown, one muddy, three I didn't notice.
A wall, a spider, anger.
A Handicapped mind and body.
A home. an abode.
I Might have been there with seven colours.
Papers are waste.
My river is your lake.
My theory, your joke.
My god, your demon.
When you have the sun I have the stars.
Your trash is my food
But my gold is your Prize!
(so, how funny is that?)
Wasted ink, I don't rhyme.
In a matter of time,
A thought sublime,
And a thought of crime.
So you can call me a hypocrite,
If you want.
But I don't swivel back and forth,
Just a swift rift motion forward,
Change of phases and states,
Hence the new identity;
Everyday, every moment,
For a stagnant pond like eyes of yours.
Have you ever been (to) an ocean, a river
Even a stream?
If I grow good wood, I know you'll carve me
In your city of pleasures.
Keep my on your shelves,
Read me as you want,
Use me when you wipe (as you're done with your shit)
Burn me when you're cold(or pissed with another man's words)
The sad thing is that we have to take sides or we're nothing.
You will, I know, I know, I freaking know know know...
But then never mind, as we're born to serve, serve well
The Majesty(make it plural for a modern a time)
When you I defeat myself, I win
Amidst gunshots and battle cry, there's music.
Amidst mud a lotus...
Give me my dynamo and take your dynamite.