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Brisk Walk On A City Trail

Poetry | 33 Chapters

Author: Adit Pujari

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This poetry book is loosely a compilation of my inner thoughts and mind wandering. For most of the part, I have had no control over what I wrote. The words weren’t coherent as they gushed out of my conversations with my inner self. For most of the part, I was as scarred, awestruck, disappointed, confused, and, at times, disgusted by the poetry as you would be in a short while. Bear with me, it gets rocky, low, depressive, and quite romantic....

My words are failing me tonight

My words are failing me tonight
But it is something that
regularly happens to me
these days
I am falling and falling
Into a bottomless pit.
There is this corridor that seems to never end
And I take a step
And there is nowhere to go
I understand that
There is no coherence to my words
Leave me be
To my own vices
For they are all that is left
My words fail me
They shrink with every gate I open
And every moment that passes
I see god in the spaces between
Talking to me
There is no god
There is no coherence
There is no meaning

Pineapple story

I sit with a pineapple
atop the fringes of my dissolution.
Staring and waiting for the sweet
to leave the unruly protective layer.

Memory of your first voice

The memory of your first voice
Rusted beyond recognition
I scrap it with a knife
To find what remains
Of my memory of your heart

The floating wisps
Of your swollen dreadlocks
Dancing to the movement
Of my dead camera
I captured you that da
But not on any screen

The rust comes off
With ease I never imagined
All was today is tomorrow
All tomorrow is today
Melting in one big shiny pot
Inside my sullen head
That sulks to hold you

The bump on the road
After we crossed Karol Bagh
In an auto,
I was holding your hand
You squeezed my fingers
I remember it clearer than all my grief and anguish

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Poetry | 33 Chapters

Author: Adit Pujari

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Brisk walk on a city trail

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