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 comment :

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

    ReplyDelete

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