Intro. of a Dreamer

"Etherized upon a table"
Describing oneself in a few lines is not hard, but impossible. Human being is the name given to thousands and thousands of possibilities that have been united into one existence by the virtue of some force. No language is comprehensive enough; no word is vast enough; no connotation is abstract enough; and no sentence is inclusive enough to describe even one persona of the million-faceted human personality. Languages are mere tools created by human mind, and nourished by the history.

So ambiguous in nature; so hidden in its origin; so nebulous in its actions; so indefinable in character; the human mind may only be described and explained by the integrity of one thing: his dreams. Here I present to you my dreams; scribbled into words of abstractions; brought to you by none other than a human mind.

A Writer's Block

"Etherized upon a table"
While trying to write something I have hit a wall – a writer’s block. What is this writer’s block in its true essence? Is it the rushing of the thoughts which overwhelms the highways of the neurons in the brain? Is it a tsunami of ideas which leaves the head numb; incapable of processing the ideas? Or is it frustration that rises by the realization of the fact that one’s ideas are nothing more than abstraction spread over the papers; a bunch of futile keystrokes that can generate a page of clever text, but nothing of intrinsic value to the human life. My writings are the representation of an innate instinct of expression. The desire to express what I perceive through my eyes – thousand and thousands of words for every picture I see through them.
I have seen it all; I have seen all the pictures – each picture portraying an emotion. I see them every passing second; those black and white pictures, which are then colored by the crayons of my imagination. I love to fill them up with color; red, blue, green, black, black, black and all the seven colors in the rainbow of the night. I create masterpieces within my head, and I exhibit them into my words invainly. I present to you what you see all around and still never care to notice. You hear the words, you read the scribbling on the walls and then you chose not to notice. You chose not to see, you chose not to hear, and you chose to ignore me. You do it over and over again and I die with every word you read.
Sweet is the headache which is rooted behind the eyeball. It takes over the nerves with a fiendish delight until those spots of white light starts flashing infront of the eyes. Each flash separated by a moment’s interval and each lasting for a moment. Its a moment that seems to span an eternity.
This is indeed a writer’s block. After writing all this crap, I still cant think of a single word which relates to what I was originally writing.

The Last Temptation of {your name here}

"Etherized upon a table"



Here it is: my first sonnet. It has three quatrains followed by a couplet. Just like a Shakespearean sonnet. You will notice however, the abscence of rhyme scheme and also the work lacks iambic pentameter.

The last temptation of {your name here}

The anus resonates with the clouds
shedding tears, the earth grieving,
and the spincher pulsating
with the thorns still hanging out.

A sigh follows every pain impulse.
The door opens to reveal a cactus.
The breath deepens, the bowels swell.
the intestines yells, from the growling dark well.


Destiny is revealed
in shattered pieces.
Like silk on thorns,
and thorns when pulled.

After three quatrains you expect conclusion:
behind every poet there is a crying anus.