Dishant Chourasia: Figures of Thought: Collegiate Voices across Spaces

Raining ecstasies

I am not your morals
not your stupid chaos
I am not your label or sometime you need to think.
I am lava flowing upwards
screaming my way up the top sky
and come pouring down like Valkyries.

I am the everlasting omnipotent
I am the latent developing cell
that you don't see
but I exist.
I have brown, black, yellow faces
with small eyes, big eyes and no eyes
but I see.

I consume, mostly devour
every part and pore
I drink two gallons of the ocean
and call it mine
I dig two metres in the ground
and I oblige to kill everything over and underneath it
except myself
Kill, sell and consume
that's all I am
Kill, sell and consume.

I am the sunlight on your destroyed column
I am the fire setting my own skin ablaze
I am the tornado you never saw or will see
because it’s inside my 
pair of odd clothes
and torn shoes
that goes through the empty cycles of bloom.

To hopes of despair

The light keeps me a prisoner 
but I find dark on days
 in its unmoving apartment 
floating on my head
with soot dripping from the cracks above.
I drench my body in black
And soak my lungs in the soot,
The light starts looking for me.
I run inside bright halls of worship
a godless creation of the Gods
I hide under its light
with Furies, my only allies.
Each breath splitting my lungs  into four,
I feel alive.
I run past oblivion
killing every kin
a creature of no creation,
I run home.
My lungs burn
as it waits at my door,
a bright formless horror
under crimson bulbs, smelly flowers and valleys.
I run inside and shut my door
still it finds me cornered.
My allies no more
and the apartment above
has had new tenants.
The light keeps me a prisoner 
but I find dark on days.

Author's Bio:  Dishant Chourasia is an aspiring professor, pursuing his Master’s in English Literature from St. Xavier’s College, Ranchi. His poetry epitomises the struggle of a young, sensitive mind trying to translate both, the atrocities it encounters and the mental states in coming to terms with it, into art. It is drawn from the quotidian- the people he sees around him and their stories, observed from and contrasted with the vantage point of his own privilege.


  1. Dishant, your mind is beautiful macha! The way you express it is amazing! Looking forward to read more of these!!


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