Bismay Mohanty

Like the earth held on to the counting droplets and made lakes, rivers and oceans  I shall hold on to the fragments of joy, despair and imagination for who knows they might become an identity  See, the boy who remained committed to art The person who never followed most trends with his generation  Then young fellows come up once a while Whom nobody in the world understands Sometimes due to the age they are in and sometimes because the listener never fought the battle themselves  Somehow my heroism is never encouraged, but exemplified how a man understood and fought for his values  I tell the young kids all  Cousins or nieces and nephews  Why I render their parents stupid  Why listening to the heart is as important as applying the brain  How to deal with the long letters getting delivered but never been responded  And many other things whose learning hasn't arrived yet  But they are all on the way  There are no wise men who have known it all  And even if they did, then what's th

The Magicians of Mazda by Ashwin Sanghi My rating: 2 of 5 stars Review of Magicians of Mazda: An information overload of a history class at every page, forcibly molded into a story far away from characterization and impressive but ineffective plotting. Before reading Magicians of Mazda, I was excited about the journey. With exploring more and more of this book, a sense of great writing impressed me. However, as the number of pages proceeded there was chaos disrupting the storyline. Whenever a novel is read, the core theme surrounds the characters. It is only for the characters that the plot is impacted; in Mazda, the characters are forcibly placed to accommodate the plot. There was an average feeling post-completion of this books – the good parts being some knowledge coming in an understandable way. But when a desperate attempt to collide mythology and fiction without smooth transitioning is made, the only thing the reader is left with is information overload. Why cannot storytellin

  Do you pulsate at the thoughts entering your knack? Like a volcano waiting to be full to it's neck. Afraid to ideate even little with demons ready for celebration Pushing off the edge, after all Suicide doesn't kill like cerebration.

  Dreamland Floating on a mist of love embracing the skin In a home from which far I had been My eyes are closed and yet I see all Travelers celebrating after death in the yawl.   There is a world far away from here Where anything you do, people cheer No boundaries anywhere as we can read hearts Of each other, and without saying convo starts.   It’s a land of dreamers – Dreamland it is called Where love doesn’t need poetries or words scrawled We dreamers connect through music within As shown in movies as the union of two souls begin.   Here, in Dreamland only those are allowed the who dream Anything is fine, but dreaming is a must, with or without a theme A kind of home where I always wanted to be at Something which mortal life prohibits from building or making that.   Monday morning, and back to Reality The compelling need for survival is back in all totality The next tour to Dreamland is again five days far away; Till then I should work

Snoring amidst the traffic Deaf to the honking cars Dreaming of home In a far far land Where greenery witnesses all And not tall buildings With forcefully existing people Together in rooms to save costs. A pat recieved on the back Denoting the stop has arrived IT guy running from his dreams Straight to a laptop, under bright lights. Sleep didn't come to him last night Roommate was talking to his beloved on call He sips in free machine coffee Hour on hour without a count. Because he knows traffic will rise His half workplace is in the bus Before or after covid, He never had lunch or dinner with family. At office too, in canteen it's all faces Avoiding socialising so that They can get back to work. Returning to his room, He falls asleep With or without food And he dreams. Waterfalls and mountains All those places on his laptop's wallpaper He saves extensively for that One time of the year Where he fulfills his dreams That too ends in despair  Where he knows There is an end to

                 Everyone is aware and yet all are drugged A substantial expenditure on weekend In alcohol of illusion, falsity and lies. There are simple disinterests I possess Can I not travel near and far anytime? I am just twenty-five. It has happened quite some time That conversations meant to continue Never happened again due to death. The desires in me rest deep For they know they die young. All the excitement behind new beginnings New city, new car, new house, new love Are farces known to fade soon. There is no chance to move to a city far To friends and relatives who don’t inspire. Those who find beer more affordable Than books and discussions available. I am a lover of God And all performances of his music The tranquil sky, the chaste weather, Everything that might not feed me. But I have my home And the chance to serve my parents While they still live And not mourn over lost times For times never come back; There will be p