The pious dust of antiquity shines equal as the crimson sun. I walk alongside the muddy road. A riot of congested memories stifles me. For my entire broken now, my past is haunting me like a mistress, like my private phantom. The effulgence engulfs eternity. The frantic Fancies frivolity. I murder my memories of all past. I rebirth myself as the rootless. I rebirth myself as the unremitting hurricane .I refine the crystal out of the dust. I decide to open up an era for all crazism, all genius, all the unsettled. Save up your nostalgia. All time is with you now. Behind us nothing but the void. Forward us nothing but the vast.
YOU ARE READING
The monsoon literature
PoetryOur self is always so distant a leap from the surroundings. Literature is the medium of the minority to revolt, to state existence.
