when the mad man melted
He mothered many tributaries
Feeding each a part of his long-cultured madness
As colostrum
He mothered many tributaries
Feeding each a part of his long-cultured madness
As colostrum
The soil and vegetation they flew through
Gave them their colors, disparity and eyes
To look through: Dmitri became sensualist, Ivan- a rationalist,
And Alexei, a committed theist, and they all chased ‘truth’ in the paths of their own.
Gave them their colors, disparity and eyes
To look through: Dmitri became sensualist, Ivan- a rationalist,
And Alexei, a committed theist, and they all chased ‘truth’ in the paths of their own.
Along with the mad father, I too had melted and flown through,
Quartered and corrected with them: when I exchanged a long glance with Ivan
And remembered feverish nights, sweating with my forehead against the cold window of my room,
Cursing every stoned statue I bowed down to, thereafter.
Quartered and corrected with them: when I exchanged a long glance with Ivan
And remembered feverish nights, sweating with my forehead against the cold window of my room,
Cursing every stoned statue I bowed down to, thereafter.
Along with Dmitri, I chased mirages and was cursed for the constant culpability that fell around.
And in a good day, I forgave every sinner, like Alexei and sang along with Kafka
‘They’re not all lunatics – just "incidentally mad", like the rest of us.’
And in a good day, I forgave every sinner, like Alexei and sang along with Kafka
‘They’re not all lunatics – just "incidentally mad", like the rest of us.’
A castle on cloud, just like the Brothers Karamazov
I was in the end.
I was in the end.
-punyasloka
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