the reader who started writing

A Story by Bideep Roy

Bideep's journey

iTHE READER WHO

STARTEDWRITING

BIDEEP ROY

iiiii

Dedicated to my Father Bidyut Roy and my

mother Dipasri Roy, and to my beloved

Surjyosnata Dey.iv

PROLOUGE

SHORT

STORIES

VI-XXV

WRITING

POEMS

XXVII-XLVIIIvShort stories

viFace-off

Upon entering the room Roy felt a chill in the air, half-lit by the

spamming rays of roadside halogen lights, the room was soundless the

air in the room was cold, somebody had left the air conditioner running.

But why Roy asked himself, slowly he tried looking for the switchboard

to turn on the lights, as soon as he turned the lights on he felt cold like

somebody had stabbed him with a knife made of ice. Diptesh was laying

on the floor soaked in blood. It didn't take much time for Roy to

understand that he has entered into a world that he shouldn't have, with

trembling legs he walked up to the blood-soaked body of Diptesh, a cut

to the veins. Did he commit suicide? Roy asked himself, no it can’t be

Roy reconsidered the fact that Diptesh was not a guy who could commit

suicide. Roy looked closely, the body was just laying on the floor, cold

and pale the white formal shirt had blood all over it, Diptesh was still

wearing the same formal dress that he wore when Roy and Diptesh met

the last time 3 days ago in a nearby cafe and it was only then that

Diptesh asked Roy to come over to his place on a Saturday evening.

Today was Saturday and the clock showed that it was 6 past 20 Roy sat

down on the floor and re-arranged everything that was going on. Roy

whispered “ me and Dip we met at the cafe last Wednesday and after

that meeting Dip never called me or texted, Dip never came to the office

also, so he came back to his apartment, sat down with a knife, and killed

himself and since then he was just laying there on the ground, but wait

he left the ac on as he knew that his body will start to rot and the smell

of a rotten body can attract people outside. Roy shook his head and

whispered again “that means he killed himself on Wednesday and was

laying dead since then but how can that be? He is having a maid who

viicomes regularly and then there is his girlfriend and also the neighbors

visit him often then how can it be?” no answers came to Roy’s mind his

conscience became foggy. This is not a story written by Haruki

Murakami this is reality a man is laying dead soaked in blood. Roy

again whispered “ should I call the police? They may suspect me as the

murderer wait a minute where is the blade or the knife that Dip used for

cutting the veins?” Roy looked around and made an inspection of the

rooms, the dressing room was well organized, the kitchen too, and

nothing suspicious about the bathroom also. Then Roy went to the

kitchen again and took a close look at the wooden knife holder, yes the

chef's knife was missing the knife that was the sharpest of all the other

knives. “That means he used the chef’s knife to kill himself” Roy

whispered to himself. “But where is the knife now” Roy whispered

again. Something ominous had happened and Roy was utterly clueless.

He formed everything chronologically first he opened the door,the door

was unlocked, the lights were off and Dip was already lying down on

the floor. He whispered again “that means Dip or whoever it was never

locked the door but intentionally or unintentionally left the ac on, if it

was dark then it would have been hard for Dip to cut his veins and if

somebody else had done it then that somebody else before leaving

turned off the lights hmm that makes sense” Roy stood there at the

kitchen thinking about all this and a sudden ring of the doorbell startled

him. “Who might it be?” Roy whispered and then slowly closed the

kitchen door without making any sound, through a little hole in the door

Roy watched. The bell rang 4times then someone opened the door,

entered the room, and then closed the door again, nonchalant by the

laying corpse the stranger looked around. “He must be wondering who

turned the lights on” Roy whispered to himself.

The stranger was a guy dressed in black, face covered in a mask, a tall

guy with broad shoulders, the stranger looked around then sat in front

of the Dip’s pale blood-soaked body.

viiiLike the stranger was trying to examine something. Roy’s heart was

beating like a steam engine. Silently Roy took out the butcher’s knife

from the knife holder and slowly opened the door without making a

sound he stood behind the stranger and then said “ hands on the floor

where I can see them” the stranger took out his hands from his pocket

and put them on the ground and slowly he turned around. “Open your

mask but slowly,” Roy said calmly. The stranger’s left hand reached for

the mask and slowly pulled the mask down, the face was revealed. Roy

stood there in a state of shock, behind the mask it was Roy himself same

face same eyes. “But how can it be”? Roy asked the stranger replied

“look at your watch” Roy took a look at his smartwatch, “Wednesday

7.13 pm” Roy recalled that he was wearing black that day and also had

a mask on. That means…..

ixNext day

waking up from the nightmare Roy called Dip, well Dip was well and

alive, nonetheless, Roy went out to take a walk by the river, walking by

the river he saw an old guy, the old guy looked at him and said "out for

a walk?", "well yes" Roy replied "so what do you do," the old man

asked, "I'm a writer" Roy replied, " a writer eh, mmm so what do you

write?" the old man asked. "I write about my experiences and about my

favorite author Murakami"

"Murakami, who is that?" the old man asked. " well his full name is

Murakami Haruki he’s a Japanese writer”. “Japnese I see, why japan?

There are plenty of writers here in India,” the old man said then coughed

a bit and then continued “ India is a place of culture a place of diversity

why chose Japan? What’s so special?” the old man asked. “Well India

is slowly but surely loosing it’s heritage and culture,but Japan is very

strict about their culture, also I like Japan it’s my personal choice, they

eat rice we eat rice, they eat fish we also, their blood is red, ours too so

why comparing India to Japan or Japan to India?” Roy replied. “Ah you

young people you do not understand a single thing do you even know

in which yuga your’e living?” asked the old man. “ yes, the yuga of kali,

we are living in kali yuga, kali was the demon who had mistakenly

drunk few drops of the poison that appeared during the Samudra

manthan thus he became poisned and evil, but later he also drank Amrit

which made him immortal, now in Kali yuga Kali will appear and to

stop his destruction Vagban Vishnu would appear in his 10th avtar

which is kalki, kalki along with the Chiranjivis would put a stop to Kali

and the yug in which we are now dwelling” Roy replied readily. Taken

by a surprise the old man laughed and sat down on the grass. “So youre

not an atheist like everybody else of your genration I guess” the old man

said laughing. “ having knowledge about mythology and hindu gods

xdoesn’t nececerrily mean that I am beliver or a devottiee, but anyway I

do believe that there is a certain someone looking at us from the above”

Roy replied. “Hmmm I see so do you believe in karma?” the old man

asked. “ well yes I believe in karma and I also believe that whatever

happens, happens for good either our good or someone else’s but surely

for a greater good” Roy replied and sat down on the grass. The old man

kept quite for a moment and then asked “and LIFE? What do you think

of life?”. Roy thought for a bit and then replied “ life means a journey

where birth being the start and death being the end, a journey which we

have been blessed with which a curse in itself”. The old man giggled

and said “you like tea? Let’s have some at a near by tea stall.” “oh that

would be lovely” Roy replied getting up.

xiAfter the Rain

Roy was half asleep and was having a pleasant dream, he was in the

valley of flowers, in the distance there were mountains, the sky was

clear and nimbus clouds were floating. The beeping of his phone wakes

him up. A text from his company an urgent call from the news

production company. There was a flood going on in Assam and it was

Roy’s duty to visit the area, photographing the scenario and writing

articles on the same. Roy washed his face took out his camera and some

other essentials and went out, took a cab, the ticket for his journey was

already booked. Upon reaching the station he first had himself a nice

breakfast, a nice platter of eggs sunny side up, some sausages, buttered

toast and a cup of espresso for the extra boost. It was 7.30 in the

morning, the train was at 8 am. So after finishing his breakfast he rushed

to the station and boarded the train. The train left the station exactly at

8 am and Roy sitting at the window seat started reading Haruki

Murakami’s After the quake. By 10 am he was sleepy again and took a

quick nap. When he woke up it was past 2 pm. He was actually working

through the night for the last couple if days that’s why he was feeling

sleepy most of the time. He ordered a regular lunch from the pantry and

resumed reading After the quake. The lunch arrived, nothing special

about it just some chicken curry and some rice.at around 11 pm he

reached Assam. The hotel was already booked and a cab was waiting

for him at the station. The hotel was a regular hotel nothing fancy about

it, the staffs were nice and the room was well organized and clean. He

ordered dinner but there was no food left so he just slept. At 6.30 his

phone rang. The cab driver was calling him, he woke up washed his

face, brushed and after some 15 minutes, he was ready to go. The cab

took him to the village where the flood had caused the most damage.

xiixiii

Upon reaching the spot and looking around Roy felt numb. What was

he watching? There were no houses to see justdebris,

Naked children

roaming on the streets crying loudly, men sitting at the roadside head

sunk between their knees. Women weeping. The destruction was in a

word “massive”. He took some photographs and then put down his

camera in utter sadness, “ what can I do, how can I help these people?”

he asked himself no answers came to his mind. In his pocket he had 8

thousand cash and in his bank account he had around 60 thousand

rupees for him it was enough for surviving on his own for another 2

months “but what about these people” he asked himself, he called his

company and asked them “how can we help these helpless people?”

someone from another side answered,” forget it finish your job and

return to Kolkata”. Hearing this tears rolled down his cheek. He was

helpless utterly helpless. He shouted “ oh my lord why have you put me

on this earth if I can not even help these people in need” at that moment

a white van appeared from nowhere, a van from a nongovernmental

organization. They arrived with reliefs like food and clothes and other

essentials like medicine and sanitary napkins. He went to the van and

asked them if they need any help, they asked him his identity and Roy

gave them his card, upon seeing which a man from the van said “just

finish your job and get out from this place, you people make money

from others misfortune” he took out the checkbook from his bag and

signed a cheque of 60 thousand rupees and gave it to one of the men

from the NGO, checking the cheque the man asked “60thousend but

why? We can not even give you a proper receipt of money which would

help you in reducing taxes” Roy replied “ this is the money that I have

made by selling stories on people’s misfortune thus it belongs to them”

he handed the cheque over and left the place, the next day he returned

to the place again on a local auto rickshaw and he came with 6 big bags

full of food and staples. Upon seeing him the villagers ran toward him

with a smile on their faces. A villager asked “ you are Roy right?” confused by the sudden gesture Roy just said “yes” the villagers took

him by the hand and dragged him to the nearby relief center. There were

almost 20 bags of staples and several bags full of clothes and other

items. One villager shouted “ this man is Roy who gave us all these

things” another man called “ please lord bless this man” tears rolled

down his cheeks again but not of sadness but of joy the joy of having a

purpose full life engulfed him.

xivSautéed Shrimps

Bideep turned on the boat Bluetooth speakers and selected “ Dave

Brubeck - Take Five” from his favourite playlist called soul, and started

dancing to the beats of “take five” after a bit of swaying around he went

to the kitchen he had to have something good to eat so he started putting

together a nice enough breakfast from whatever was available in the

kitchen and in the fridge. There were some shrimp in the fridge so he

decided upon making a Chinese stir-fried shrimp dish. First, he peeled

off the skins, and then for some time he marinated the shrimps, it was

standard marination involving soy sauce for the savoury, a bit of

vinegar for the acidic profile, and some salt, sugar, and red chili powder.

In the meantime, he chopped some vegetables nothing much just some

good old red bell pepper, red chilis, thinly sliced garlic that's all. He

took out a mid-sized wok and put it in the oven, when the wok was hot

enough he added some sunflower oil and when the oil started smoking

slightly, he added the shrimps, when the shrimps were well enough

fried, he then reduced the amount of oil and tempered it with the thinly

sliced garlic, then he threw in the sliced bell peppers and added the

shrimps also he added some sweet chili sauce and some more soy sauce,

he tossed everything well so that everything can mix and can create

whatever he desired. Lastly, he added some salt and some monosodium

glutamate to give the dish a final touch, transferring everything to a

white ceramic bowl he came back to his work desk, take five was over

and the speaker was playing Louis Armstrong, Bideep came to his work

desk and put down the bowl took out Haruki Murakami’s after dark

from the bookshelf and started rereading. Oh forgot to mention that he

also made himself a cup of cappuccino because the morning can't start

without some caffeine in his system.

xvBirth of a poet

Sitting alone in his workplace, sipping cheap Sidus port wine, Bideep

was having a lazy morning. Suddenly his girlfriend called, she was back

from her night shift at the hospital, at the end of the call she said "good

morning and good night" as she was going to sleep. The words good

morning and good night were stuck in Bideep's head. He took out his

little handmade notepad and started writing lines which soon took the

shape of a poem...

Sigh

Good morning Good night lose you I might.

Terrible society glaring at us, speak up I say, they say "hush".

Nobody will come forth, abandoning their comfort.

Pale as a cloud the morning met, I was struggling like a fish in a

net.

Each day to lose and gain; in the end, it's all just pain.

Sitting here all alone; waiting for another dawn.

The moon with her first chin drawn down,

I looked up at the sky and I made a frown

The sun came up and I say goodbye as bright lights makes me cry.

After writing he smiled and took out a gold flake the wine glass still

half full he took a puff, and absolute pleasure of peace engulfed him.

xviWAY BACK HOME

Bideep took a rikshaw on his way back home, Ravi Shankar at

Monterey Pop (June 1967) was playing on his Motorola Bluetooth

neckband. Engulfed in an immense trance of peace he closed his eyes

but a loud honking of a car ruined his mood, a middle-aged grumpy

looking man was honking from behind the rikshaw continuously, so he

asked the Rikshaw puller to slow and give space to the car so that it can

pass by, anyway he was almost near his apartment and soon he reached

his apartment. Climbing the stairs he saw the apartment cat along with

her 3 little kittens. He gave a spa-like ear scratching session to the cat

while the cat continued purring in pleasure. He smiled and climbed the

last floor and finally reached his rooftop apartment. He opened the lock

and let himself in and closed the door then after letting out a deep sigh

he undressed and put on his usual clothes. Then he made himself a cup

of tea and sat at his workplace confused between work and reading

Blind Willow, sleeping woman. Nonetheless, he took out a gold flake

indie mint and resumed listening to Ravi Shankar at Monterey Pop

(June 1967).

xviiDreaming

Bideep was sitting at his work desk and it was a lazy afternoon, a cup

of tea was waiting in front of him but even if he was there his mind was

elsewhere, he was thinking about The wind-up bird chronicle by Haruki

Murakami, through the open window of his rooftop apartment he was

watching the birds flying and nimbus clouds moving at a pace of a

90year old. After gazing at that scene for some moments he closed his

eyes, he felt as if he was still living inside the story that he has just

finished, a sense of calm took possession of his body, he felt like diving

into a beautiful river, an afternoon wind came through the open window

and he fell asleep, in his dreams he saw a talking swan, the swan told

him "see Bideep even if I'm a water bird, I don't get wet by the water".

Bideep opened his eyes, he was awake and thinking about the words of

the swan, and he understood that the swan was a symbol, a symbol of

freedom, the meaning behind the swan's word was "do whatever you

want but don't let it affect you, be free. A smile appeared on Bideep's

face.

xviiiThe beauty of the strangers

(inspired by Charles Bukowski)

In this world of strangers, we don't know where our paths will cross.

The world is small enough it's just a matter of time before we bump into

each other. That guy who sits at the tea stall every morning and smiles

at me when I pass by is a stranger. The lady who offered me water on

the bus the other day was a stranger. When I was looking for my wallet

and a girl came running and said that I had dropped it, was a stranger.

That day when I was returning home and wasn't feeling like walking, a

man on a motorcycle gave me a ride. He was a stranger. There's a

kindness in the strangers; they don't speak much but they show that

humanity is still alive, there's beauty in all this�"we don't need tragedies

or hate, nor conspiracies; what we need is good coffee and a pack of

smokes with an unconditional smile from some kind stranger like you

who gave me one piece of advice: "Life's too short to be anything but

great."

xixNeon lights

While returning from the office, Bideep noticed that his hand was half

blue and half red in color. The neon signboard of an energy drink

company lit him up, and he felt soaked up in neon lights. After spending

some time in that trance, he called a cab and sat in the window, telling

the driver to turn off the air conditioner and to open the automatic

windows. A wind-chapped face touched his face just then�"just like

one of his lover’s little arms. It was hard for him to meet his girlfriend

often but he never once grew tired of the distance between them. After

returning home, he changed into ordinary clothes,took out the bottle of

Ballantine's from the kitchen cabinet, poured some in the whiskey glass,

and sat down on his favorite sofa, after a gentle sip of the fine whiskey

he resumed reading Haruki Murakami’s

Colorless Tskuru Tazaki and his years of pilgrimage.

xx𝐀 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞

(inspired by Haruki Murakami)

Just a Gigolo” describes his life: “The world goes on without me.”

you're here, others are here, we all are here, expectations keep us alive,

people say we need poems and songs and books. I say we don't! we

need kindness, compassion, and humanity, and in the search of all these

we usually end up in a wild sheep chase. "one needs to be happy to live

some doesn't", and then there are those who want to "make something

disappear which doesn't even exist", different people and their different

wild sheep chases, careless whispers and "carpe diem but not today"

and more meds, more alcohol, more smokes which lead to nowhere but

into a mental wild sheep chase, a cup of hot tea a smoke, a mobile for

pressing the letter keys to vent out whatever is there in the mind, this is

my very own wild sheep chase as I'm typing all this nonsensical

gibberish.

xxiThe start of July 2022

Wake up in the dark to an empty living room, a dull ache in his head,

sore eyes, and bones. After some moments of struggle, he told himself

"give it another hour or else go back to bed if it isn't yet 5 am".

Nonetheless, he woke up and opened the curtains and there was a light

out there somewhere so lit up that he couldn't tell where it came from

anyhow it wasn't morning yet. He looked out of the window, yes there

was a glass pane with some condensation on it but no one outside. The

wind blew through the bare trees blowing away leaves and petals. A

lone bird cried in the distance, this place is definitely deserted. He was

starting to feel a bit scared by now not by ghosts or God, but by himself,

himself which was completely absent all these years and now returned

again for bad.

The light from outside suddenly was so bright that it almost blurred the

vision along with the light a gust of wind came and came an

unapologetic void of loneliness, and engulfed in that void Bideep stood

there for some moments eyes barely open, a sense of existential crisis

was eating him up from the inside, tears rolled down his cheeks. After

standing in front of the window for a couple of moments he let out a

deep sigh and went to the sink, he washed his face with fresh cold water

and brushed. After feeling a bit fresh he went to the kitchen and made

himself a cup of coffee. A packet of "gold flakes Indie mint" was laying

on top of the tiny table beside his usual sitting spot his favorite black

colored leather sofa, he sat down, coffee cup in his hand starring at the

pack of smokes, his left hand stretched out in the direction of the table

but didn't pick up the pack of smokes rather it picked up 1q84 the novel

by Haruki Murakami, he sighed and resumed reading where he left off.

For the next week he never went outside, he just sat at his workstation

xxiireading Murakami, After almost finishing all the books by Murakami

he started going through the poems of Charles Bukowski. It took him 2

days to complete the book named “the pleasure of the Damned, selected

poems 1951-1993” and that was the moment when many poems came

to his mind. Bideep researched poets like Paul Laurence Dunbar, Sara

Teasdale, Georgia Douglas Johnson, etc to have a better grasp on the

poetic use of words thus locking himself in his room he sat down with

a pen and his notebook and wrote almost 20 poems in a single day.

When he finished it was another 5 am in the morning but he was calm,

slightly happy, a feeling of accomplishing something was there.

Trying to write POEMS

Getting up

I went to your door

With my heart full of pride

And you answered with a gun in your hand

You shot me down

But I got up again

I was born a fighter, I was born to survive

xxiiiI found a way out of the dark and away from the pain

I found a new way out of the dark and off the chain

And now I'm walking and I can't go back again

No, no, no, and no!

I'm walking on water, I'm swimming on wine

You're so far away from me, but I'm getting closer to you

I'm flying over oceans, I'm up in the sky

You're so far away from me, but I'm getting closer to you

You shot me down but I got up again

I was born a fighter, I was born to survive.

After writing this poem he felt dissatisfied as there were no rhyming

couplets. He knew all to well that rhyming in a poem was not so

essential but he had to create an impact and had to make himself

different from the crowd so he tried again but this time his main focus

xxivwas in not only the inner meaning of the poems but also the rhyming

pattern, he used an AABB pattern for the poems and the first rhyming

poem that he wrote bought a smile to his face.

xxvWriting Poems

xxvi1

Goodbye

come as you may go as you might

pain in my heart as I'll lose your sight.

from the day we met and till now

I remember how she laid her little fingers on my brow.

out of my sight, she has aged like some fine wine

upon seeing her now my heart beats with scintillant strain and shine.

I need you I need you, can you hear me cry?

but it's all in vain as it's another goodbye.

Inspired by Paul Laurence Dunbar, Sara Teasdale, and Georgia

Douglas Johnson

xxvii2

Reminiscing

See the sun so warm so alone

Fell a soft rosy dawn from the lone,

She laid her little arms upon mine

My heart skipped with a bright shine

We bloomed like a bud, on the rosy air

But before the smile, there were our tears

In the grass field we first made love

We float upon a grave at a dove.

Inspired by Paul Laurence Dunbar, Georgia Douglas Johnson, and

Lydia Huntley Sigourney

xxviii3

the void

streets are burning fire everywhere

Charging their manhood with the royal air.

no water no food no shelter no wood

With covetous eyes, the child has stood.

but the world is cruel humanity is doomed

the child stood Awaiting, with the word that never bloomed.

the woman and the child stood in utter pain

Feel as a stream of heart made of brain.

Inspired by Paul Laurence Dunbar, Sara Teasdale, and Georgia Douglas

Johnson

xxix4

Phoenix

Walking in the desert, thirsty I become

Found no Oasis not even a tree of palm

Tired by the long walk I sat down

My eyes red my skin brown

Tanned by the heat of the glaring sun

Made me cry left me to burn

I stood up, started walking again

Maybe someday soon there'll be a rain

Holding the hope in my heart

Of bravery, as some lofty part...

Inspired by Paul Laurence Dunbar, Georgia Douglas Johnson, and

Lydia Huntley Sigourney

xxx5

the cat

the cat sleeping on the couch

dreaming of catching a big fat mouse.

I was walking in the garden

loud noise of a thunder all of a sudden

black clouds up in the sky

Making the past cleah vigil sigh,

Lordy of the bounces of the air,

That was a cry in an awoke flare.

I ran inside and shut the door

the door rattled as the thunder roared

the cat woke up and stretched a bit

roam around the room for some meat

nonchalantly he moved through the room

unaverred by the outside doom.

I looked and him and thought of a new dawn

I dawn where I would reborn.

reborn born as a cat

dreaming of catching a mouse big and fat.

Inspired by Paul Laurence Dunbar, Sara Teasdale, and Georgia

Douglas Johnson

xxxi6

the end

waves were crashing and ebbing away

Sung to the day with their night and day,

clouds were floating and the sky was blue

To serve as a young soul with a hue.

flowers dangling in the air

a widow stand still with her open hair.

she stood like a statue tears in her eyes

Across the grave streams of summer skies.

before the grave of her beloved son

she left a rose and took out the cold handgun,

pointing at her forehead she pulled the trigger

a voice whispered in her ear "it's the end no more fear".

Inspired by Paul Laurence Dunbar, Sara Teasdale, and Georgia

Douglas Johnson

xxxii7

life

the old man was singing a song

hey ho we will bear young.

Filled with happiness the child was dancing,

joy in her eyes the girl was swaying

Smooth as the last of the ardent kiss,

Soon as I behold a storm of bliss.

She turned her face to meet and smile,

I thanked god for making my life worthwhile.

Inspired by Paul Laurence Dunbar, Sara Teasdale, and Georgia

Douglas Johnson

xxxiii8

Nom de plume

roses are red the sky is blue

Light in the morning, rosy and new;

Even so the dusky lips of May,

Rose of my soul in the dusky day.

The blush went into a blanching flame,

Forth came the noise of the happy shame

Beside me in the shadowy room

she asked my name and I gave her my nom de plume.

Inspired by Paul Laurence Dunbar, Sara Teasdale, and Georgia

Douglas Johnson

xxxiv9

betrayal

red and blue neon lights

cold night and blurry sight.

My love was false and my love was true,

I knew her well, through and through.

Smooth as the pearl of her own last night,

Smooth was my way with a dark delight.

little did I know that I knew nothing

for all these years who were you deceiving?

Inspired by Paul Laurence Dunbar, Sara Teasdale, and Georgia

Douglas Johnson

xxxv10

Oxymoron

empty soul what an irony

Or a dew drop on a cotton tree,

oxymoronic it might seem

like a fire burning a stream

like a gold wooden bowl

like a gas chamber with an air hole

like a cow who can hunt

like a match stick that can't be burnt.

like a fish that can talk

like a dessert made of rock.

like my body without a heart

like an ending without a start.

Inspired by Paul Laurence Dunbar, Sara Teasdale, and Georgia

Douglas Johnson

xxxvi11

Nomad

just a feeling that's all I had

that I will roam this earth like a nomad

To the bright day of the smell of life

Wild and free like the storm of shell and knife.

like a bird flying high

to speak to the clouds and to the sky

to run and to fall

that's my life a never-ending long haul.

Inspired by Paul Laurence Dunbar, Sara Teasdale, and Georgia

Douglas Johnson

xxxvii12

Summer of 65

Hot was the fire hot was the day

Hot was the weather of 11th may

pale was the sky and was grey

Sitting on the roof top I pressed play.

Sitting under the scorching sun Listening to Beethoven

I felt like a chicken in a big flaming oven

No matter how Funny it may sound,

This is the tale that is now unbound

The tale of 1965

Which stabbed me in the heart with a flaming knife.

Hot days and dull weather like a running karborater.

No water no ice dull like an Indian dish without spice.

Hot and humid, horrible and boring.

Every day was a same morning to evening.

Hot and humid, dull and boring from morning to evening

From morning to evening.

Inspired by Paul Laurence Dunbar, Georgia Douglas Johnson, and

Sara Teasdale

xxxviii.

Thought