I never gave a **** about the enlightened ones
i was too busy caring about the frightened one
enlightenment is subjective
I never really cared about following the rules
rules were made by a tyrant with his tools
i wont be a slave to directive

i never gave a **** about those sophisticated
i was too caught up in to which i was related
sophistication is useless
i never really cared about your edification
it would stop me from building my foundation
i dont mind being museless

Sometimes inspiration is free
Other-times it costs you the world
In our abandon we seek
Divinity, eternity
And often the meaning
Of our words
Eludes even us
Are we an author?
A seeker?
A valiant warrior
Braving the darkness
Seeking for such elusiveness
It sets the mind free
Within that darkness
Lies the eternal
A place without form
A castle, a dungeon
And for the unwise
A prison without end
And only those
Well acquainted
With their own madness
May tread its murky waters
To pluck that fruit
Whose shape is an omnipresent
Kaleidoscope of meanings
And to solidify its form
And cast it onto sprawling page
This is our work
Our bottomless pit
Our greatest weakness
And our ultimate triumph.

-----

Reformatted version:

Sometimes inspiration is free
other-times it costs you the world
In our abandon we seek
Divinity, eternity
And often the meaning of our words
eludes even us
Are we an author?
A seeker?
A valiant warrior braving the darkness
seeking for such elusiveness
It sets the mind free
within that darkness lies the eternal
a place without form
a castle, a dungeon
and for the unwise, a prison without end
And only those well acquainted
with their own madness
may tread its murky waters
To pluck that fruit
whose shape is an omnipresent kaleidoscope of meanings
and to solidify its form
and cast it onto sprawling page
This is our work
our bottomless pit
our greatest weakness
and our ultimate triumph.

It has started
occurring to me
that I rely
too much on my
muses
to give me worth.

We are
too young
and I am
too small
to start giving
bits of myself away
to be stretched and
expanded upon
by others.

I cannot
be restricted
to dependency
or limit myself
to the dead-end
streets
paved by
people with names
I forgot.

I can walk
in whichever direction
I choose
and write words
that I will not
dedicate
to you.

I write of broken
     t e e t h &
deep wounds
nobody can see
d a r k n e s s
     shadows
agony & pain
     it is my
m u s e
that I feast
     on
but I haven't
picked up the
             p e n
in a week
  because the
m u s e
is gone right now
   I feel
strangely
    *h a p p y

She says
Let's go
Live in a big city
And make art and change the world.
She can say this; she is art.
But my hands are bound
With ***** hair;
They cannot make.
He says
Come, run with me
We will live on the beach
And watch films and all will be love.
He can say this; he is love.
But my heart is strapped
With suds that wrap 'round it;
I cannot love.
They say
They are leaving
To live on the hills
And sit and think about life.
They can do this; they are life.
But mine is whirring and swirling
And whirlpooling
In a black drain.
Mother says
Get a good job, and marry someone
Who thinks like you and earns like you,
Eat, and breed, so your rabbits, too,
Can eat.
She can say this; she has bred, and earned, and eaten.
But I am held
By threads that catch
And tear on the jagged edges of my body:
Shoulders and eyebrows (sinking and rising,
in submission and rebellion).
Apartments constrict and choke;
Beaches drown me;
Hills are voyeurs with sharp surveillance;
And mansions
Have golden bars, that cling too tight.
For now though
— Shampoo, soap, drain, dry —
Monotony holds comfort
And museless function runs the key that jolts me
Onwards.

Pale stars are staring back. Useless museless life, leaves in a thundercrack.
To live without love, is to be cleansed of fire twice. Still the sting of loss, may be fire by thrice.

THE UNIQUE OXYMORON
(Bijoylakshmi Das, 30th May 2020)
With endless stretches of the blue above,
All around the limitless vast of the sea;
Oh Dear! You have made solitude your absolute kingdom
In Soul’s sublime freedom free.

Alone, all alone in Moon-moist rapture clad,
And ravishing Rhapsody of the starry mirth;
The sweet kisses cypher blush in the Blue
The Creation seems to be joyful, living worth.

The ceaseless symphony that stirs the World
The museless melody brings elixir to life,
The whole universe is just one single string of Love
Tied in beads of compassion infinite.

There lies no more the difference between YOU and ME
All compact in One single beautiful harmony;
Love’s immensitude flows from Heaven to Earth
The Brown’s Beauty bares her ***** to the Sea.

The illusory illusion that you see around
The notes discordant hinders your freedom’s liberty,
And you have misplayed enough in the Divine Playground
Now let nature clear dirt from your Destiny.

Creation belongs to all, but your illegitimate will –
To make the rest serve to your ****** whim,
Why are you crying now, my dear Man-monster!
”As you sow, so you reap”: the unique Oxymoron’s unceasing Rhyme?

Be aloof, sit sovereign in Soul’s lone empire
Ever uninvadable, where Love guards as sentinel,
There the Spring-Blossoms wither not
The Empyrean Damsel welcomes you her door to dwell.

Take care! Nature is to ****** her legitimate rights
Sooner or later, your devilish hands could no more hold;
Your grip is brittle, bones are shattered
You have made it yourself in the vilest endeavour.

The nightmare is your own making,
The colossal waste of life and energy,
You have always been the blood-thirst Vampire,
Now be ready to visit your worthwhile destiny.

Back to Nature: the earnest Appeal,
Back to Creation’s legitimate Whole;
You are a mere speck of dust in the Vast
Hence, in the Vast Nature do not interfere.
……………………………………

(Sounds like Harmony but)
Tastes like apathy.
Dry, chapped, and phlegmy
With my tongue thick and
Drudging in a tasteless tar
At the top of the fall.
Cold –blooded and writhing
Shedding, scheming and idle
Potential energy and work to be done
Over distances and barb wire bulwark.
Throbbing and turgid, restlessly
Shackled, zipped, and tucked.
A static and stale statue
Approaching a ******, kinesis
On lacking lines, purged pages
Silent songs, and clean canvases
Museless, hollow, and still