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qqueenofhades · 3 years ago

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The Green Knight and Medieval Metatextuality: An Essay

Right, so. Finally watched it last night, and I’ve been thinking about it literally ever since, except for the part where I was asleep. As I said to fellow medievalist and admirer of Dev Patel @oldshrewsburyian, it’s possibly the most fascinating piece of medieval-inspired media that I’ve seen in ages, and how refreshing to have something in this genre that actually rewards critical thought and deep analysis, rather than me just fulminating fruitlessly about how popular media thinks that slapping blood, filth, and misogyny onto some swords and castles is “historically accurate.” I read a review of TGK somewhere that described it as the anti-Game of Thrones, and I’m inclined to think that’s accurate. I didn’t agree with all of the film’s tonal, thematic, or interpretative choices, but I found them consistently stylish, compelling, and subversive in ways both small and large, and I’m gonna have to write about it or I’ll go crazy. So. Brace yourselves.

(Note: My PhD is in medieval history, not medieval literature, and I haven’t worked on SGGK specifically, but I am familiar with it, its general cultural context, and the historical influences, images, and debates that both the poem and the film referenced and drew upon, so that’s where this meta is coming from.)

First, obviously, while the film is not a straight-up text-to-screen version of the poem (though it is by and large relatively faithful), it is a multi-layered meta-text that comments on the original Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, the archetypes of chivalric literature as a whole, modern expectations for medieval films, the hero’s journey, the requirements of being an “honorable knight,” and the nature of death, fate, magic, and religion, just to name a few. Given that the Arthurian legendarium, otherwise known as the Matter of Britain, was written and rewritten over several centuries by countless authors, drawing on and changing and hybridizing interpretations that sometimes challenged or outright contradicted earlier versions, it makes sense for the film to chart its own path and make its own adaptational decisions as part of this multivalent, multivocal literary canon. Sir Gawain himself is a canonically and textually inconsistent figure; in the movie, the characters merrily pronounce his name in several different ways, most notably as Sean Harris/King Arthur’s somewhat inexplicable “Garr-win.” He might be a man without a consistent identity, but that’s pointed out within the film itself. What has he done to define himself, aside from being the king’s nephew? Is his quixotic quest for the Green Knight actually going to resolve the question of his identity and his honor – and if so, is it even going to matter, given that successful completion of the “game” seemingly equates with death?

Likewise, as the anti-Game of Thrones, the film is deliberately and sometimes maddeningly non-commercial. For an adaptation coming from a studio known primarily for horror, it almost completely eschews the cliché that gory bloodshed equals authentic medievalism; the only graphic scene is the Green Knight’s original beheading. The violence is only hinted at, subtextual, suspenseful; it is kept out of sight, around the corner, never entirely played out or resolved. In other words, if anyone came in thinking that they were going to watch Dev Patel luridly swashbuckle his way through some CGI monsters like bad Beowulf adaptations of yore, they were swiftly disappointed. In fact, he seems to spend most of his time being wet, sad, and failing to meet the moment at hand (with a few important exceptions).

The film unhurriedly evokes a medieval setting that is both surreal and defiantly non-historical. We travel (in roughly chronological order) from Anglo-Saxon huts to Romanesque halls to high-Gothic cathedrals to Tudor villages and half-timbered houses, culminating in the eerie neo-Renaissance splendor of the Lord and Lady’s hall, before returning to the ancient trees of the Green Chapel and its immortal occupant: everything that has come before has now returned to dust. We have been removed even from imagined time and place and into a moment where it ceases to function altogether. We move forward, backward, and sideways, as Gawain experiences past, present, and future in unison. He is dislocated from his own sense of himself, just as we, the viewers, are dislocated from our sense of what is the “true” reality or filmic narrative; what we think is real turns out not to be the case at all. If, of course, such a thing even exists at all.

This visual evocation of the entire medieval era also creates a setting that, unlike GOT, takes pride in rejecting absolutely all political context or Machiavellian maneuvering. The film acknowledges its own cultural ubiquity and the question of whether we really need yet another King Arthur adaptation: none of the characters aside from Gawain himself are credited by name. We all know it’s Arthur, but he’s listed only as “king.” We know the spooky druid-like old man with the white beard is Merlin, but it’s never required to spell it out. The film gestures at our pre-existing understanding; it relies on us to fill in the gaps, cuing us to collaboratively produce the story with it, positioning us as listeners as if we were gathered to hear the original poem. Just like fanfiction, it knows that it doesn’t need to waste time introducing every single character or filling in ultimately unnecessary background knowledge, when the audience can be relied upon to bring their own.

As for that, the film explicitly frames itself as a “filmed adaptation of the chivalric romance” in its opening credits, and continues to play with textual referents and cues throughout: telling us where we are, what’s happening, or what’s coming next, rather like the rubrics or headings within a medieval manuscript. As noted, its historical/architectural references span the entire medieval European world, as does its costume design. I was particularly struck by the fact that Arthur and Guinevere’s crowns resemble those from illuminated monastic manuscripts or Eastern Orthodox iconography: they are both crown and halo, they confer an air of both secular kingship and religious sanctity. The question in the film’s imagined epilogue thus becomes one familiar to Shakespeare’s Henry V: heavy is the head that wears the crown. Does Gawain want to earn his uncle’s crown, take over his place as king, bear the fate of Camelot, become a great ruler, a husband and father in ways that even Arthur never did, only to see it all brought to dust by his cowardice, his reliance on unscrupulous sorcery, and his unfulfilled promise to the Green Knight? Is it better to have that entire life and then lose it, or to make the right choice now, even if it means death?

Likewise, Arthur’s kingly mantle is Byzantine in inspiration, as is the icon of the Virgin Mary-as-Theotokos painted on Gawain’s shield (which we see broken apart during the attack by the scavengers). The film only glances at its religious themes rather than harping on them explicitly; we do have the cliché scene of the male churchmen praying for Gawain’s safety, opposite Gawain’s mother and her female attendants working witchcraft to protect him. (When oh when will I get my film that treats medieval magic and medieval religion as the complementary and co-existing epistemological systems that they were, rather than portraying them as diametrically binary and disparagingly gendered opposites?) But despite the interim setbacks borne from the failure of Christian icons, the overall resolution of the film could serve as the culmination of a medieval Christian morality tale: Gawain can buy himself a great future in the short term if he relies on the protection of the enchanted green belt to avoid the Green Knight’s killing stroke, but then he will have to watch it all crumble until he is sitting alone in his own hall, his children dead and his kingdom destroyed, as a headless corpse who only now has been brave enough to accept his proper fate. By removing the belt from his person in the film’s Inception-like final scene, he relinquishes the taint of black magic and regains his religious honor, even at the likely cost of death. That, the medieval Christian morality tale would agree, is the correct course of action.

Gawain’s encounter with St. Winifred likewise presents a more subtle vision of medieval Christianity. Winifred was an eighth-century Welsh saint known for being beheaded, after which (by the power of another saint) her head was miraculously restored to her body and she went on to live a long and holy life. It doesn’t quite work that way in TGK. (St Winifred’s Well is mentioned in the original SGGK, but as far as I recall, Gawain doesn’t meet the saint in person.) In the film, Gawain encounters Winifred’s lifelike apparition, who begs him to dive into the mere and retrieve her head (despite appearances, she warns him, it is not attached to her body). This fits into the pattern of medieval ghost stories, where the dead often return to entreat the living to help them finish their business; they must be heeded, but when they are encountered in places they shouldn’t be, they must be put back into their proper physical space and reminded of their real fate. Gawain doesn’t follow William of Newburgh’s practical recommendation to just fetch some brawny young men with shovels to beat the wandering corpse back into its grave. Instead, in one of his few moments of unqualified heroism, he dives into the dark water and retrieves Winifred’s skull from the bottom of the lake. Then when he returns to the house, he finds the rest of her skeleton lying in the bed where he was earlier sleeping, and carefully reunites the skull with its body, finally allowing it to rest in peace.

However, Gawain’s involvement with Winifred doesn’t end there. The fox that he sees on the bank after emerging with her skull, who then accompanies him for the rest of the film, is strongly implied to be her spirit, or at least a companion that she has sent for him. Gawain has handled a saint’s holy bones; her relics, which were well known to grant protection in the medieval world. He has done the saint a service, and in return, she extends her favor to him. At the end of the film, the fox finally speaks in a human voice, warning him not to proceed to the fateful final encounter with the Green Knight; it will mean his death. The symbolism of having a beheaded saint serve as Gawain’s guide and protector is obvious, since it is the fate that may or may not lie in store for him. As I said, the ending is Inception-like in that it steadfastly refuses to tell you if the hero is alive (or will live) or dead (or will die). In the original SGGK, of course, the Green Knight and the Lord turn out to be the same person, Gawain survives, it was all just a test of chivalric will and honor, and a trap put together by Morgan Le Fay in an attempt to frighten Guinevere. It’s essentially able to be laughed off: a game, an adventure, not real. TGK takes this paradigm and flips it (to speak…) on its head.

Gawain’s rescue of Winifred’s head also rewards him in more immediate terms: his/the Green Knight’s axe, stolen by the scavengers, is miraculously restored to him in her cottage, immediately and concretely demonstrating the virtue of his actions. This is one of the points where the film most stubbornly resists modern storytelling conventions: it simply refuses to add in any kind of “rational” or “empirical” explanation of how else it got there, aside from the grace and intercession of the saint. This is indeed how it works in medieval hagiography: things simply reappear, are returned, reattached, repaired, made whole again, and Gawain’s lost weapon is thus restored, symbolizing that he has passed the test and is worthy to continue with the quest. The film’s narrative is not modernizing its underlying medieval logic here, and it doesn’t particularly care if a modern audience finds it “convincing” or not. As noted, the film never makes any attempt to temporalize or localize itself; it exists in a determinedly surrealist and ahistorical landscape, where naked female giants who look suspiciously like Tilda Swinton roam across the wild with no necessary explanation. While this might be frustrating for some people, I actually found it a huge relief that a clearly fantastic and fictional literary adaptation was not acting like it was qualified to teach “real history” to its audience. Nobody would come out of TGK thinking that they had seen the “actual” medieval world, and since we have enough of a problem with that sort of thing thanks to GOT, I for one welcome the creation of a medieval imaginative space that embraces its eccentric and unrealistic elements, rather than trying to fit them into the Real Life box.

This plays into the fact that the film, like a reused medieval manuscript containing more than one text, is a palimpsest: for one, it audaciously rewrites the entire Arthurian canon in the wordless vision of Gawain’s life after escaping the Green Knight (I could write another meta on that dream-epilogue alone). It moves fluidly through time and creates alternate universes in at least two major points: one, the scene where Gawain is tied up and abandoned by the scavengers and that long circling shot reveals his skeletal corpse rotting on the sward, only to return to our original universe as Gawain decides that he doesn’t want that fate, and two, Gawain as King. In this alternate ending, Arthur doesn’t die in battle with Mordred, but peaceably in bed, having anointed his worthy nephew as his heir. Gawain becomes king, has children, gets married, governs Camelot, becomes a ruler surpassing even Arthur, but then watches his son get killed in battle, his subjects turn on him, and his family vanish into the dust of his broken hall before he himself, in despair, pulls the enchanted scarf out of his clothing and succumbs to his fate.

In this version, Gawain takes on the responsibility for the fall of Camelot, not Arthur. This is the hero’s burden, but he’s obtained it dishonorably, by cheating. It is a vivid but mimetic future which Gawain (to all appearances) ultimately rejects, returning the film to the realm of traditional Arthurian canon – but not quite. After all, if Gawain does get beheaded after that final fade to black, it would represent a significant alteration from the poem and the character’s usual arc. Are we back in traditional canon or aren’t we? Did Gawain reject that future or didn’t he? Do all these alterities still exist within the visual medium of the meta-text, and have any of them been definitely foreclosed?

Furthermore, the film interrogates itself and its own tropes in explicit and overt ways. In Gawain’s conversation with the Lord, the Lord poses the question that many members of the audience might have: is Gawain going to carry out this potentially pointless and suicidal quest and then be an honorable hero, just like that? What is he actually getting by staggering through assorted Irish bogs and seeming to reject, rather than embrace, the paradigms of a proper quest and that of an honorable knight? He lies about being a knight to the scavengers, clearly out of fear, and ends up cravenly bound and robbed rather than fighting back. He denies knowing anything about love to the Lady (played by Alicia Vikander, who also plays his lover at the start of the film with a decidedly ropey Yorkshire accent, sorry to say). He seems to shrink from the responsibility thrust on him, rather than rise to meet it (his only honorable act, retrieving Winifred’s head, is discussed above) and yet here he still is, plugging away. Why is he doing this? What does he really stand to gain, other than accepting a choice and its consequences (somewhat?) The film raises these questions, but it has no plans to answer them. It’s going to leave you to think about them for yourself, and it isn’t going to spoon-feed you any ultimate moral or neat resolution. In this interchange, it’s easy to see both the echoes of a formal dialogue between two speakers (a favored medieval didactic tactic) and the broader purpose of chivalric literature: to interrogate what it actually means to be a knight, how personal honor is generated, acquired, and increased, and whether engaging in these pointless and bloody “war games” is actually any kind of real path to lasting glory.

The film’s treatment of race, gender, and queerness obviously also merits comment. By casting Dev Patel, an Indian-born actor, as an Arthurian hero, the film is… actually being quite accurate to the original legends, doubtless much to the disappointment of assorted internet racists. The thirteenth-century Arthurian romance Parzival (Percival) by the German poet Wolfram von Eschenbach notably features the character of Percival’s mixed-race half-brother, Feirefiz, son of their father by his first marriage to a Muslim princess. Feirefiz is just as heroic as Percival (Gawaine, for the record, also plays a major role in the story) and assists in the quest for the Holy Grail, though it takes his conversion to Christianity for him to properly behold it.

By introducing Patel (and Sarita Chowdhury as Morgause) to the visual representation of Arthuriana, the film quietly does away with the “white Middle Ages” cliché that I have complained about ad nauseam; we see background Asian and black members of Camelot, who just exist there without having to conjure up some complicated rationale to explain their presence. The Lady also uses a camera obscura to make Gawain’s portrait. Contrary to those who might howl about anachronism, this technique was known in China as early as the fourth century BCE and the tenth/eleventh century Islamic scholar Ibn al-Haytham was probably the best-known medieval authority to write on it extensively; Latin translations of his work inspired European scientists from Roger Bacon to Leonardo da Vinci. Aside from the symbolism of an upside-down Gawain (and when he sees the portrait again during the ‘fall of Camelot’, it is right-side-up, representing that Gawain himself is in an upside-down world), this presents a subtle challenge to the prevailing Eurocentric imagination of the medieval world, and draws on other global influences.

As for gender, we have briefly touched on it above; in the original SGGK, Gawain’s entire journey is revealed to be just a cruel trick of Morgan Le Fay, simply trying to destabilize Arthur’s court and upset his queen. (Morgan is the old blindfolded woman who appears in the Lord and Lady’s castle and briefly approaches Gawain, but her identity is never explicitly spelled out.) This is, obviously, an implicitly misogynistic setup: an evil woman plays a trick on honorable men for the purpose of upsetting another woman, the honorable men overcome it, the hero survives, and everyone presumably lives happily ever after (at least until Mordred arrives).

Instead, by plunging the outcome into doubt and the hero into a much darker and more fallible moral universe, TGK shifts the blame for Gawain’s adventure and ultimate fate from Morgan to Gawain himself. Likewise, Guinevere is not the passive recipient of an evil deception but in a way, the catalyst for the whole thing. She breaks the seal on the Green Knight’s message with a weighty snap; she becomes the oracle who reads it out, she is alarming rather than alarmed, she disrupts the complacency of the court and silently shows up all the other knights who refuse to step forward and answer the Green Knight’s challenge. Gawain is not given the ontological reassurance that it’s just a practical joke and he’s going to be fine (and thanks to the unresolved ending, neither are we). The film instead takes the concept at face value in order to push the envelope and ask the simple question: if a man was going to be actually-for-real beheaded in a year, why would he set out on a suicidal quest? Would you, in Gawain’s place, make the same decision to cast aside the enchanted belt and accept your fate? Has he made his name, will he be remembered well? What is his legacy?

Indeed, if there is any hint of feminine connivance and manipulation, it arrives in the form of the implication that Gawain’s mother has deliberately summoned the Green Knight to test her son, prove his worth, and position him as his childless uncle’s heir; she gives him the protective belt to make sure he won’t actually die, and her intention all along was for the future shown in the epilogue to truly play out (minus the collapse of Camelot). Only Gawain loses the belt thanks to his cowardice in the encounter with the scavengers, regains it in a somewhat underhanded and morally questionable way when the Lady is attempting to seduce him, and by ultimately rejecting it altogether and submitting to his uncertain fate, totally mucks up his mother’s painstaking dynastic plans for his future. In this reading, Gawain could be king, and his mother’s efforts are meant to achieve that goal, rather than thwart it. He is thus required to shoulder his own responsibility for this outcome, rather than conveniently pawning it off on an “evil woman,” and by extension, the film asks the question: What would the world be like if men, especially those who make war on others as a way of life, were actually forced to face the consequences of their reckless and violent actions? Is it actually a “game” in any sense of the word, especially when chivalric literature is constantly preoccupied with the question of how much glorious violence is too much glorious violence? If you structure social prestige for the king and the noble male elite entirely around winning battles and existing in a state of perpetual war, when does that begin to backfire and devour the knightly class – and the rest of society – instead?

This leads into the central theme of Gawain’s relationships with the Lord and Lady, and how they’re treated in the film. The poem has been repeatedly studied in terms of its latent (and sometimes… less than latent) queer subtext: when the Lord asks Gawain to pay back to him whatever he should receive from his wife, does he already know what this involves; i.e. a physical and romantic encounter? When the Lady gives kisses to Gawain, which he is then obliged to return to the Lord as a condition of the agreement, is this all part of a dastardly plot to seduce him into a kinky green-themed threesome with a probably-not-human married couple looking to spice up their sex life? Why do we read the Lady’s kisses to Gawain as romantic but Gawain’s kisses to the Lord as filial, fraternal, or the standard “kiss of peace” exchanged between a liege lord and his vassal? Is Gawain simply being a dutiful guest by honoring the bargain with his host, actually just kissing the Lady again via the proxy of her husband, or somewhat more into this whole thing with the Lord than he (or the poet) would like to admit? Is the homosocial turning homoerotic, and how is Gawain going to navigate this tension and temptation?

If the question is never resolved: well, welcome to one of the central medieval anxieties about chivalry, knighthood, and male bonds! As I have written about before, medieval society needed to simultaneously exalt this as the most honored and noble form of love, and make sure it didn’t accidentally turn sexual (once again: how much male love is too much male love?). Does the poem raise the possibility of serious disruption to the dominant heteronormative paradigm, only to solve the problem by interpreting the Gawain/Lady male/female kisses as romantic and sexual and the Gawain/Lord male/male kisses as chaste and formal? In other words, acknowledging the underlying anxiety of possible homoeroticism but ultimately reasserting the heterosexual norm? The answer: Probably?!?! Maybe?!?! Hell if we know??! To say the least, this has been argued over to no end, and if you locked a lot of medieval history/literature scholars into a room and told them that they couldn’t come out until they decided on one clear answer, they would be in there for a very long time. The poem seemingly invokes the possibility of a queer reading only to reject it – but once again, as in the question of which canon we end up in at the film’s end, does it?

In some lights, the film’s treatment of this potential queer reading comes off like a cop-out: there is only one kiss between Gawain and the Lord, and it is something that the Lord has to initiate after Gawain has already fled the hall. Gawain himself appears to reject it; he tells the Lord to let go of him and runs off into the wilderness, rather than deal with or accept whatever has been suggested to him. However, this fits with film!Gawain’s pattern of rejecting that which fundamentally makes him who he is; like Peter in the Bible, he has now denied the truth three times. With the scavengers he denies being a knight; with the Lady he denies knowing about courtly love; with the Lord he denies the central bond of brotherhood with his fellows, whether homosocial or homoerotic in nature. I would go so far as to argue that if Gawain does die at the end of the film, it is this rejected kiss which truly seals his fate. In the poem, the Lord and the Green Knight are revealed to be the same person; in the film, it’s not clear if that’s the case, or they are separate characters, even if thematically interrelated. If we assume, however, that the Lord is in fact still the human form of the Green Knight, then Gawain has rejected both his kiss of peace (the standard gesture of protection offered from lord to vassal) and any deeper emotional bond that it can be read to signify. The Green Knight could decide to spare Gawain in recognition of the courage he has shown in relinquishing the enchanted belt – or he could just as easily decide to kill him, which he is legally free to do since Gawain has symbolically rejected the offer of brotherhood, vassalage, or knight-bonding by his unwise denial of the Lord’s freely given kiss. Once again, the film raises the overall thematic and moral question and then doesn’t give one straight (ahem) answer. As with the medieval anxieties and chivalric texts that it is based on, it invokes the specter of queerness and then doesn’t neatly resolve it. As a modern audience, we find this unsatisfying, but once again, the film is refusing to conform to our expectations.

As has been said before, there is so much kissing between men in medieval contexts, both ceremonial and otherwise, that we’re left to wonder: “is it gay or is it feudalism?” Is there an overtly erotic element in Gawain and the Green Knight’s mutual “beheading” of each other (especially since in the original version, this frees the Lord from his curse, functioning like a true love’s kiss in a fairytale). While it is certainly possible to argue that the film has “straightwashed” its subject material by removing the entire sequence of kisses between Gawain and the Lord and the unresolved motives for their existence, it is a fairly accurate, if condensed, representation of the anxieties around medieval knightly bonds and whether, as Carolyn Dinshaw put it, a (male/male) “kiss is just a kiss.” After all, the kiss between Gawain and the Lady is uncomplicatedly read as sexual/romantic, and that context doesn’t go away when Gawain is kissing the Lord instead. Just as with its multiple futurities, the film leaves the question open-ended. Is it that third and final denial that seals Gawain’s fate, and if so, is it asking us to reflect on why, specifically, he does so?

The film could play with both this question and its overall tone quite a bit more: it sometimes comes off as a grim, wooden, over-directed Shakespearean tragedy, rather than incorporating the lively and irreverent tone that the poem often takes. It’s almost totally devoid of humor, which is unfortunate, and the Grim Middle Ages aesthetic is in definite evidence. Nonetheless, because of the comprehensive de-historicizing and the obvious lack of effort to claim the film as any sort of authentic representation of the medieval past, it works. We are not meant to understand this as a historical document, and so we have to treat it on its terms, by its own logic, and by its own frames of reference. In some ways, its consistent opacity and its refusal to abide by modern rules and common narrative conventions is deliberately meant to challenge us: as before, when we recognize Arthur, Merlin, the Round Table, and the other stock characters because we know them already and not because the film tells us so, we have to fill in the gaps ourselves. We are watching the film not because it tells us a simple adventure story – there is, as noted, shockingly little action overall – but because we have to piece together the metatext independently and ponder the philosophical questions that it leaves us with. What conclusion do we reach? What canon do we settle in? What future or resolution is ultimately made real? That, the film says, it can’t decide for us. As ever, it is up to future generations to carry on the story, and decide how, if at all, it is going to survive.

(And to close, I desperately want them to make my much-coveted Bisclavret adaptation now in more or less the same style, albeit with some tweaks. Please.)

Further Reading

Ailes, Marianne J. ‘The Medieval Male Couple and the Language of Homosociality’, in Masculinity in Medieval Europe, ed. by Dawn M. Hadley (Harlow: Longman, 1999), pp. 214–37.

Ashton, Gail. ‘The Perverse Dynamics of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’, Arthuriana 15 (2005), 51–74.

Boyd, David L. ‘Sodomy, Misogyny, and Displacement: Occluding Queer Desire in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’, Arthuriana 8 (1998), 77–113.

Busse, Peter. ‘The Poet as Spouse of his Patron: Homoerotic Love in Medieval Welsh and Irish Poetry?’, Studi Celtici 2 (2003), 175–92.

Dinshaw, Carolyn. ‘A Kiss Is Just a Kiss: Heterosexuality and Its Consolations in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’, Diacritics 24 (1994), 205–226.

Kocher, Suzanne. ‘Gay Knights in Medieval French Fiction: Constructs of Queerness and Non-Transgression’, Mediaevalia 29 (2008), 51–66.

Karras, Ruth Mazo. ‘Knighthood, Compulsory Heterosexuality, and Sodomy’ in The Boswell Thesis: Essays on Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality, ed. Matthew Kuefler (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006), pp. 273–86.

Kuefler, Matthew. ‘Male Friendship and the Suspicion of Sodomy in Twelfth-Century France’, in The Boswell Thesis: Essays on Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality, ed. Matthew Kuefler (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006), pp. 179–214.

McVitty, E. Amanda, ‘False Knights and True Men: Contesting Chivalric Masculinity in English Treason Trials, 1388–1415,’ Journal of Medieval History 40 (2014), 458–77.

Mieszkowski, Gretchen. ‘The Prose Lancelot's Galehot, Malory's Lavain, and the Queering of Late Medieval Literature’, Arthuriana 5 (1995), 21–51.

Moss, Rachel E. ‘ “And much more I am soryat for my good knyghts’ ”: Fainting, Homosociality, and Elite Male Culture in Middle English Romance’, Historical Reflections / Réflexions historiques 42 (2016), 101–13.

Zeikowitz, Richard E. ‘Befriending the Medieval Queer: A Pedagogy for Literature Classes’, College English 65 (2002), 67–80.

#the green knight #the green knight meta #sir gawain and the green knight #medieval literature #medieval history #this meta is goddamn 5.2k words #and has its own reading list #i uh #said i had a lot of thoughts?

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pomp-and-circumstance · 4 years ago

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Episode 112.

Be still my heart. (AKA shit got real but first we’re going to talk about feelings.)

Jester checks in with Yasha about the death of Mollymauk and the revival of his body, which, in true Jester fashion, turns into her asking Yasha about Beau and her feelings. This was really interesting for me to watch because Jester witnessed Yasha tell everyone in the previous episode that the mirror “would be useful,” but once she insinuates they share a bed, without any kind of sexual vibe, Yasha turns into a flustered, stammering mess. Who better to gently lead Yasha through this than Jester herself, who immediately gets that there’s something deeper going on here than an interest in a one night thing. Her teasing playfulness turns into a beautiful kindness, and she gets to see, for the first time, the woman who fell in love once a long time ago.

There’s a lot of this that feels key for me here, and I haven’t had a lot of coffee this morning, but Imma try and get my thoughts in order anyway.

Only two people in the Nein know the deep heartache Yasha suffers from losing Zuala: Caduceus and Jester. Jester watched the painful guilt slowly reveal itself from “you’re chosen a mate, but I fell in love with someone else” to “I don’t know where she’s buried, but I have so many flowers to bring her.” She’s watched Yasha suffer over and over again, but here she bears witness to something truly unique - Yasha overwhelmed with the butterflies in the stomach one gets when they really care. On top of all that, Yasha doesn’t know what to do, because of course she doesn’t know what to do. The only other relationship she had in her life had to be in secret. It’s kind of a wonder she’s admitting any of this to Jester in the first place, but that she’s doing so says a lot, and Jester doesn’t miss a moment of that.

Enthusiastic Cheerleader Laura Bailey engages in some kind hearted teasing that basically oozes with it’s okay, Yasha, this is supposed to be fun energy. The two of them are suddenly teenagers at a sleepover talking about a crush and the best way to leave a note in their locker. “You don’t get nervous easily. If you’re getting flustered, that says something. Maybe I should leave.”

“No no! I don’t feel like I’m ready!”

“Okay! I’ll stay in the room!” (God bless you Jester, and your kindness.)

“... shit, I don’t know what to do!”

Watching Yasha discover that it’s okay to be vocal about these kinds of things is such an adventure. She’s so concerned with overstepping a boundary with Beau, but is too nervous to take a chance and see what that boundary even is, or if it even exists. (”I feel like I shouldn’t know this because it’s not from her, you know?... I just, she-she-she-she-she makes me so nervous.” This same woman tore the wings off Obann’s back.) Watching Jester try to hold back her excitement for her friends is like watching a hyperactive puppy run in the park for the first time. It’s such a complete disaster of a conversation that is so relatable and almost awkward to watch until Yasha opens up and becomes just that much more vulnerable.

“She makes me sweaty and, like, warm and fuzzy at the same time, and then I see her do things and them I’m just like, I want to--I want to kiss her so bad. And then that makes me feel kinda bad.”

I had to stop and think about this for a second because the first thing that came to mind was, of course, some kind of Dope Monk Shit Beau had done in the past that would make Yasha think this, but if she’s so adamant that her role is to protect, I don’t feel like she’d let something like that distract her in the heat of battle. (I may be proven wrong later, who knows, I’m mostly saying I don’t think she’d grab Beau in the middle of the BBEG fight and kiss her or anything.) What I immediately thought of after, though, was the previous episode when Beau was trying to line things out to the Nein about her theories regarding the Nine Eyes. There’s a moment where Beau is being praised, and Yasha with a bit of awe in her voice goes, “That’s a breakthrough.” It’s so simple and so easily missed in the moment. (I believe Beau immediately turns it around on her and says she deserves credit for a point she made, which Yasha immediately deflects and says she didn’t come up with nearly the amount of theories Beau did.) I think Yasha is holding far more than awe in that moment. I think that’s a peek into a moment she wishes she could have kissed her, shown some kind of affection, something, to show how proud she is of Beau.

So, at the end, when she says “that makes me feel kinda bad,” I don’t think she’s talking about a leftover something with Zuala - though maybe she is, and that’s valid, she’s always going to love Zuala and moving on with grief is painful and hard, even if you’ve told yourself it’s okay to - I think she genuinely doesn’t know what to do, and open affection with someone isn’t something she’s used to doing, but on top of that, I also wonder if it means she doesn’t want to be quiet with Beau, in the sense that she doesn’t want to hide how she feels. She doesn’t want another romance with secrecy, she wants to be able to love loudly, and she might have permission, so to speak, to do that, but that doesn’t mean she knows what to do with it.

Going back to Laura for a second - watching her in this conversation is so interesting because I think she caught Ashley totally unprepared for a conversation like this, which is why parts of it are so awkward and why they’re giggling throughout a portion of it. (I don’t think she did it maliciously, I think she’s being Jester and Jester would be this forthright and Ashley was just like “well shit, here we go!”) Jester is trying to be a wingman in the way only Jester can be, and when it’s clear Yasha’s anxiety comes from nerves, she drops this beautiful nugget that’s got a lot of Jester but a lot of Laura, too:

“Yasha, you can’t feel guilty for how you feel. If she makes you feel happy, that’s a wonderful thing. That’s so rare.”

Laura’s face gets me every time. She’s digging into a deep place here, and she’s doing it gently. Someone made you happy once before, Yasha. You know what this feels like. You have a chance to have it again.

“It is so rare.”

And with three sentences, the entire dynamic of the conversation changes.

Yasha suddenly takes charge of this thing and starts making suggestions to Jester, telling her she feels like she’s been given a lot of confidence, “maybe stay in the room so it doesn’t seem obvious, I’ll sleep on the floor tonight and I’ll figure it out.” Sure doesn’t sound like someone who doesn’t know what to do to me. (I mean, it does, but you know what I'm saying.) Then, after being so nervous about knowing something she felt like she should have heard from Beau, Jester assures her “that’s not the vibe I got” and she runs with it. “It’s not? Ok ok.” She’s suddenly got some confidence in this tangle of nerves, but at least she’s going to make an attempt to do something about it.

(Marisha has a face here that kills me, btw, after Jester says Yasha should talk to Beau, and Yasha says yeah, it’s best to talk to the source:

“The source is waiting, babe, I got time.”)

Speaking of Marisha, her facial journey during this poem workshop is an experience best had on your own time. Screenshots can’t do it justice. I’m going to take one image and make it my phone’s background without any context, ‘cause “eyes so blue and hair so shorn on the sides” makes her lose her shit.

(Bonus Taliesin, who can’t even.)

What I didn’t realize, though, is how quickly Beau comes back into the room after this talk between Beau and Jester, which means Ashley has only moments to really push Yasha Nydoorin of Seven Charisma, and like the badass she is, she’s got it totally under control from the first flustered “Hello!”

Because understanding your feelings and coming to terms with them about someone else is one thing. Excecution, however... is something else entirely. And while playing a suave personality that can charm the socks off anyone is fun, going to that place where you stammer and talk too much and nothing makes sense is so much more endearing. It makes the little moments where you get things “right,” so to speak, so much more. And so much more to launch off of, as Yasha immediately caves back into that place when she realizes she reached out and touched the glitter on Beau’s face, oh shit, I don’t know what to do, umm, I’m tired I guess.

(Bonus Laura, who is so proud of Yasha for being bold and basically needs a Beauyasha membership card that reads 0001/2 at this point.)

But keep in mind, this flustered nonsense isn’t just from Yasha, it’s also from Beau, who, while a little tipsy, has zero liquid courage in this moment and is just as much a stammering mess as Yasha herself is. Even more noteable is when Yasha makes a joke about “schnuggling”... Beau is almost ready to take Yasha up on that offer. “I mean, I--” is Marisha’s exact quote before Yasha backpedals and says she’s kidding. (Yet another tiny example of Marisha letting Ashley take the lead, whether it was intentional or not.) Confident Beau who oozed with sexual prowess becoming an actual disaster under the flirtatious radar of Yasha is my favorite thing in the world. That was probably the longest space of time between waking and sleeping for either of them, and Jester got to bare witness to all of their growth in its beautiful, awkward, “oh god, just schnuggle already” glory.

Taliesin is the real MVP here, who said what I’ve been thinking every time I’ve watched highlights of this part, but didn’t know it actually happened until now, “I assume they all take a point of exhaustion because none of them sleep. Just lie there.”

Even Travis, Honorary Beauyasha Membership Card holder number 0001/2, is in on it.

I adore everything about this scene. We all need a little dash of disaster lesbians in our lives. It’s gonna be okay, you two. I promise.

#beauyasha #critical role #critical role spoilers #s2ep112 #yasha nydoorin #beauregard lionett #jester lavorre #ashley johnson #marisha ray #laura bailey #taliesin jaffe #i for one welcome our lesbian disaster overlords #new love is so scary #but so exciting #and I respect these guys so much for playing it as honestly as they can #every interaction has so much purpose from 100+ episodes of buildup and not a moment of it is wasted

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janus-stanus · 3 years ago

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About Orange's Name

Since the new Asides has reignited speculation over the Orange side's name, I wanted to lay out some patterns I've noticed with the currently revealed names that, from what I've seen, others haven't been taking into consideration. This is not to say that the "rules" I'm about to lay out are 100% confirmed, but I do think names which fit these parameters are more likely to be right.

(Also, we're assuming that Orange is his own side, or at least separate enough from Logan to have his own name.)

So, we all seem to mostly be in agreement that Orange's name will end in "-us" (like Janus & Remus), "-(a/o)n" (like Roman, Patton, and Logan), or, less likely, "-il" (like Virgil)*. And while Orange's role isn't confirmed, it's like a 90% chance by this point that it's Wrath or something adjacent, and so we should be looking for names with meanings related to that. Bonus points if it's related to Roman mythology like our other two dark sides.

*This is partly why I'm surprised by how many people have jumped onto the "Orange's name is Apollo" train. Well, that and the fact that Logan just straight up said it (and none of the others reacted to it at all). Come on guys, it's not gonna be that easy.

However, in addition to that, here are two things that all of the currently known side names have in common:

- two syllables

- five unique letters (Patton and Virgil are both six letters long, but the former has two "t"s and the latter has two "i"s.)

Could these just be coincidences? I tend to think not, at least for the first point, because of how it relates the sides' names to their whole's. After all, "Thomas" is two syllables. And the sides's names all having one less unique letter than his could be symbolic of how none of them is as complete a person as he is.

...or maybe I'm reading too much into that second point. But at the very least, I am like 75% sure that Orange's name will also be two syllables. Which means no "Julius", no "Augustus", and, yes, no "Apollo".

So... what names does that leave us with?

I'll leave a list of potential two-syllable Orange names I've collected under the cut. Feel free to steal these, or to add on in a reply/reblog!

Names that also follow the "five unique letters" rule:

Talos/Talus (click the Wikipedia link to read about it)

Cyrus: means "sun", "heir to the throne", or potentially "one who bestows care" (credit to @gidget-claws for this one)

Brutus: close to "brutal"; name shared by both one of the guys who betrayed Julius Caesar, and the traditional founder of the Roman Republic

Venus: Morning Star (which also creates a Lucifer connection); the goddess of love/beauty/desire/prosperity who was ancestor to the Romans

Ocnus (link to post by @sanders-mcfanders)

Argus (link to post about it)

lastly, Ethan: would complete the Logos - Pathos - Ethos trilogy, and it works well for a character who may "possess" others to speak through them and thus borrow their credibility (makes extra sense if Orange is specifically tied to Logan)

Names that don't:

Thumos (click the Wikipedia link to read about it) (credit to @hollenka99 for this one)

Nonnus: Greek writer responsible for both an epic poem about Dionysus (which may be relevant in light of this post) and a paraphrase of the Gospel of John; Virgil was also named after a writer, and there's an obvious religious connection with the gospel

Somnus: Roman version of Hypnos, the god of sleep who chilled in the Underworld and was mentioned by irl Virgil; the thematic connection here is Orange's potential ability to "possess" people

Magnus: means "great", has ties to two famous Roman statesmen, and happens to be the name Thomas used for yesterday's "Shoutout Sunday", a day after Orange's confirmation

Erus (technically Eris): the Greek goddess of strife and discord

A variation of Ares, the Greek god of war

Marcus: refers to Mars, the Roman equivalent of Ares

From this video: Turnus, Nessus, or Cronus

lastly, Cecil: same ending as Virgil’s and means blind (like “blinding rage”, perhaps?)

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #orange sanders #we have fun here

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neocatharsis · 4 years ago

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NCT’s Mark Lee on Dreams, Instagram Poetry, and Growing Up

Mark has a lot going on — but he’s making time for poetry, introspection, and, of course, the members of NCT Dream. - Vivien Wu

“I’ve been thinking about dreams a lot these days!” Mark Lee exclaims over Zoom from SM Entertainment’s Seoul headquarters.

The 21-year-old leader of NCT Dream is enthusiastic as he mulls over the meaning of dreams, his back against a wall of pink and yellow flowers assembled by his fellow NCT members. He’s wearing a simple, white tee, and when he gestures with his hands, you can catch glimpses of the friendship ring that all seven members of NCT Dream wear as a symbol of their bond.

“I actually feel like dreams hold a large portion of a life, and I’m not just talking about the subconscious dreams that we all have when we sleep,” he continues. “If you put it in a way where dreams are actually things that motivate us, and the drive that keeps us going, especially as a strongly driven person myself, I feel like… a guy with no dreams is like…” He looks up, thinking. “…A car with no engine. So, I think it’s as important as yourself. That’s how deep I go with dreams.”

His interest in dreams is fitting, considering that they are also the central, underlying concept to the lore behind NCT Dream’s parent group, NCT. They connect their three subunits, NCT 127, NCT Dream, and WayV, in a complex, Inception-inspired fictional universe where dreams are the only way they can find each other, and where upon uniting they can mix to form new subunits collectively referred to as NCT U. In practical terms, this has resulted in a 23-member mega-group that is multifaceted in every way — from their musical styles and visual aesthetics to their cultural backgrounds and spoken languages.

NCT Dream’s original teenage concept meant that members were supposed to “graduate” when they came of age, and as the oldest, Mark was the first to leave the group at the end of 2018. Having grown attached, however, fans were devastated at his departure; after a year of separation, SM announced that the graduation system would be scrapped and that he would rejoin the group. Their new album, Hot Sauce, is the first with Mark in over two years. As fellow member Haechan declared in an interview with Teen Vogue earlier this week, “Mark [is] very special. NCT Dream means Mark.”

But before the rapper led NCT Dream, and before he joined NCT U and NCT 127 and SuperM — the man is in high demand — Mark’s childhood dream was writing. He grew up in Toronto, and through doing school projects and essays quickly discovered that he had a natural way with words. Inspired by Percy Jackson author Rick Riordan, Harry Potter, and James Patterson, Mark dreamt of becoming an author, long before he was recruited by SM at a global audition in Canada in 2012. “When I was in school, I was always the kind of guy who would write more than expected, and that became a thing that clicked for me,” he says. “I was like, ‘Maybe it’s something that I naturally do?’ But then that kind of turned into rap writing too, so I guess they kind of clicked together.” It explains his prolific career as a lyricist; since debuting, he’s amassed over 30 songwriting credits across his various groups, contributing to songs as iconic as NCT U’s “Boss,” NCT 127’s “Cherry Bomb,” and NCT Dream’s “Chewing Gum.”

Even with such an extensive body of work, however, penning lyrics hasn’t satiated his appetite for literary expression. In an interview with Japanese magazine Men’s Non-No, he revealed that he still hopes one day to write a book, whether that be a novel, autobiography, or something more philosophical.

In the meantime, he’s taken to writing what are basically short poems on his Instagram, which he created just a few months ago. He’s gathered over 4.5 million followers since then, but having such a large audience hasn’t deterred him from being endearingly vulnerable with the way he writes. When I refer to them as poems, he laughs and looks embarrassed, but when I ask him to tell me the stories behind them, he’s enthusiastic again. They’re short, but offer brief glimpses into Mark the writer — sharp, inquisitive, and thoughtful. As pieces of literature, they’re a little rough around the edges, but the sincerity he’s known for shines through, illuminating the introspective, philosophical side that may not be so obvious in person.

His first poem, loosely titled “Late Night Scribbling,” put into words his musings about sleep, thoughts, feelings, and writing. It meanders from topic to topic, hovering between feelings of hope and hopelessness, before ending with a comically awkward “haha.”

“I actually wrote that by imagining how I wanted to organize my Instagram page,” he explains. “I was thinking of creating an Instagram, then I realized that, well, I’m not really a picture kind of guy, I’m not really a travelling kind of guy… I kind of studied who I am first, and I [asked myself], ‘What’s something that I can really portray in an intimate way?’ and it turned out to be writing.”

“I started to brainstorm what kind of topics I could write about, and then from there on, I started to write a little each and every night, and that turned into Late Night Scribbling,” he continues. “That kind of gave me courage to start Instagram in the first place, that piece of writing.”

Two weeks later, he followed it up with “Black Socks,” a whimsical ode to, well, black socks — complete with accompanying photos of him wearing said socks. Immediately, it feels more confident and cohesive than its predecessor. Using the neat and tidy look of black socks as a metaphor, he describes his own mindset for living life: “Pleasure from perfect alignment; That also goes for my ability to be parallel with my thoughts and actions; I try to live out what’s in my mind, and keep it consistent even when forgotten like a working habit.”

Comments on the posts praise his writing and encourage him to continue sharing these small pieces of himself. On the stage, Mark takes on a confident, larger-than-life persona, while in vlogs and spoken interviews, he’s a bubbly character full of laughter and boyish charm. What the poems show is that, beneath these outer appearances, there’s another layer of complexity that is yet to be fully explored, and it’s not surprising that fans want to know more.

His day job as a K-pop idol doesn’t allow a lot of time for hobbies, though, and he confesses to not having written much lately. Despite that, he’s determined to stay in the industry for as long as possible. “Longevity is something that I’ve always been aiming for,” he says. “I’m willing to do this for a long time, and that requires a lot of work. I’m willing to take that as a challenge and I’m trying to stay as long as I can, but with quality.”

That focus on quality informs his preparations for the upcoming promotions with NCT Dream. In both their fictional world and ours, NCT Dream are a central component of NCT by virtue of their unique focus on growth — the seven members were aged between 14 and 17 when the group first debuted in 2016. Fast-forward five years, and the members are now 19 to 21, having reached a milestone in January when the youngest, Jisung, finally became a legal adult in Korea. When asked if he feels like an adult yet, though, Mark gives an extremely relatable answer with zero hesitation.

“I still feel like I’m in middle school, I’m gonna be totally honest. I swear to God, I feel like I’m… All right, I’ll put it up — I feel like I’m in high school!” He laughs. “I even had this talk with Jisung, ‘cos he’s the latest that turned into an adult. He said that he still feels like he’s a student, he doesn’t feel like he’s 20 [19 in international age] right now.”

It’s been a long time since all seven Dream members — Mark, Renjun, Jeno, Haechan, Jaemin, Chenle, and Jisung — have released an album together, and as the first full-length album since their debut, the fan anticipation is palpably intense. Mark himself has mentioned in various vlogs how important he believes this comeback to be, and that conviction becomes obvious whenever he talks about it.

“We had a talk all together, the seven of us, without any cameras or anything. I brought all the guys together and we talked before the whole momentum started, and I said that I’m willing to put my everything on this one. Like, I always had, but I feel like… the whole universe, or like— ” He pauses, trying to figure out how to articulate himself, and his next line is the most emphatic of our whole conversation. “There are things that are out of our control, but we can see and feel when the pieces match together sometimes, and I feel like this specific moment, this particular album, kind of had those essential parts.”

He’s thinking about all of the context surrounding this comeback: the group’s coming of age, the reunion of all seven members, the scale of the album, the fact that Jisung has only just recovered from a leg injury that meant he couldn’t dance for months — even the fact that 2020 was, against all odds, the best year yet for NCT, with release after release bringing them unprecedented success and momentum.

“I felt that coming and I explained all of that [to the group],” he continues. “This whole period of time has a lot of meaning to it, and we’re not taking that for granted, we’re working hard.” With everything that’s happened, Hot Sauce is a historic moment for NCT Dream, and that’s been reflected in their numbers — the album clocked over 1.7 million pre-orders, obliterating their previous record of 500,000 for last year’s EP, Reload.

Their familial bond and the success that has come with it is the culmination of years spent living, working, and growing up together. The members have collectively missed out on key experiences that most teenagers might take for granted, distanced as they are from normal life, and the group also benefits from an unusually loose adherence to traditional Korean age hierarchy. The result is a brotherhood that goes beyond just being colleagues. “What we have is pretty intimate, and it’s also genuine,” Mark says.

About his role, he is matter of fact. “I’m by far the most easily approachable punching bag for the team. I am not… complaining…” He laughs. “But all jokes aside, I feel like my role for this team… Yes, I am the oldest and I am the leader but I’m also… In Korea, in the culture, age is very important, but we’ve come so far that all those borders kind of just vanished and we’re all pretty much friends, and I guess I’m just a friend of theirs too.”

It’s true that, despite being the leader, his friendly personality and endearingly awkward mannerisms mean that he commands about as much authority as a small puppy. Instead, much like a puppy, he is showered with love and affection (fellow member Chenle refers to Mark as his son and his actual puppy Daegal as Mark’s little sister), but that doesn’t mean he isn’t a dependable leader figure. The opposite is true — in Renjun’s words, Mark’s presence unites the group in a way that makes him irreplaceable.

And while this may be the fifth year since their debut, in the grand scheme of things, the members of NCT Dream are still very, very young — by most standards, they would still be considered to have their entire careers ahead of them. Growth has brought them here, but where does Mark think it will take them in the future?

“Growing just never stops for us, I can see us growing continuously, endlessly,” he replies. “What the future holds is something that we will never know, but we always do try to prepare during the present, and so with whatever time we have currently and with whatever album, or whatever stage, or whatever piece of music it may be, we’re willing to make sure that we have the next one coming too.”

A final thought. “I’m glad that we’re striving for that, ‘cos we started off as…” Mark shakes his head, “…as babies.”

#nct #nct dream #Mark #nct 127

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ataraxiies · 4 years ago

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✶⋆｡˚☆ﾟ✦ ︴boyfriend material

synopsis: round one of headcanons concerning the hq boys as your boyfriend!

★˚｡ —⌇characters: kageyama tobio (181.9 cm of bf material) , sugawara koushi (174.3 cm of bf material), akaashi keiji (182.3 cm of bf material), oikawa tooru (184.3 cm of bf material), & tendou satori (187.7 cm of bf material)

★˚｡ — ⌇ genre: fluff

★˚｡ — ⌇ warnings: n/a

★˚｡ — ⌇ author’s note: i know this prolly has been done a dozen times before (i rlly hope these aren’t repetitive), but this just seemed like the proper headcanon set to start off with! so voilà: my first series of headcanons! hope you enjoy! \(*´꒳`*)/

✶▐ kageyama tobio ↝

✦ even if he’s a socially awkward boy, a bit rough around the edges, kageyama could make such a sweet boyfriend (i mean having you as his s/o makes him softer alright). he’s passionate about the things and, in this case, person, he cares about, and it shows through his actions more than his words.

✦ now i’m not saying he’ll write you love poems & serenade you in the night or anything crazy like that . . . as i definitely headcanon him as the type to be a unintentionally mean to his s/o.

✦ but hear me out! those nicknames he calls you may be a little mean in spirit (“dummy”, “idiot”, “stupid”, etc) but the way he says it-- it’s more on the endearing side than mean-spirited. you’re his adorable dummy, okay?

✦ he’s the classic case of “if the boy is mean to you, he likes you”— basically a tsundere lol. he has probably accidentally made you cry once, but since then, it’s been his priority to never make you cry again. his apology to that: it was very sincere & short, and you could tell by the grim look on his face that he felt bad. all is forgiven-

✦ he’s very shy about physical affection especially in the early stages of your relationship; the boy just tenses up whenever you initiate a hug or even hold his hand. you’re prolly worried about how rigid he is tbh. but... not to worry! over time, he’ll ease up & melt into it. maybe even initiating it himself for once (yeah step up, kags).

✦ not gonna lie, he’s gonna be a bit clueless at times. also- insensitive, dense & just outright awkward (*cough* “the course of true love never did run smooth” *cough*) . . . but the reason for this is you’re probably his first significant other, so this whole concept of being your boyfriend is foreign to him.

✦ he still puts up A+ effort because he really does want you to be happy. he’ll be good at remembering some of the small details (your birthday for one). besides, he’s straightforward, so if he’s unsure about what he’s supposed to do, he’ll ask.

✦ kageyama definitely is more chivalrous than he appears! if you’re shivering from the cold, he’ll gruffly inquire, “why didn’t you dress better?” ... while he takes off his jacket to cover around you gently.

✦ this just goes to show his love language is most definitely either: acts of service or quality time. later on in the relationship, as your bond deepens, his love language may change to physical touch. he’s just never been one for words, so i can’t see words of affirmation for him.

✦ he’s not sure how to handle you or comfort you if you’re sad, but he probably ends up listening quietly & giving you his full attention. you’re taken aback by his level of concentration on you.

✦ by the way— he can be brutally honest, so if he ends up telling you a compliment then you know it’s genuine.

✦ kageyama has a habit of looking... kinda surly all the time?? but that’s just his face! he’s always content hanging out with you, be it tossing a volleyball back and forth or walking around town on a date.. but truly, the boy adores volleyball dates... like if you don’t play, he’ll try to teach you even at the risk of being made fun of by his upperclassmen (looking at nishinoya and tanaka specifically...). but, if you do play, practicing together regularly is lowkey a thing between you two.

✦ unfortunately, he’s bad at texting. the world’s dryest texter... the king of one word replies: “okay”, “sure”, “no”, “yeah”... even the dreaded “k”. it’s gotten to the point when you’re surprised if he answers back with more than a single word.

✦ communication may be a bit tough at first— but as long as you guys are equally honest & open, there is no such thing as a problem you two can’t solve.

✦ one more thing: steal his sweatshirts!! he’ll be so flustered at how cute you look in his sweatshirt. the boy ofc won’t admit, but yeah you doing that makes him so soft & makes him want to hold you in his arms.

✶▐ sugawara koushi ↝

✦ this boy would make such a god-tier boyfriend— the type that even your dad would have to approve of because sugawara is that attentive & supportive.

✦ of course, he does have a mischievous side to watch out for... but honestly that makes him ten times more dateable in my book.

✦ i get the sense that he once joking called you princess.. and then it just kinda stuck?? like, he probably has a plethora of endearing nicknames for you, but his favorite is princesss. he treats you like one, too.

✦ he, for sure, does cute good morning & good night texts like: “good morning, princess! ☀️ hope you have a good day & i can’t wait to see you on our date later ” & “good night!! 😘 i wish we could spend more time together... but make sure you have 8-10 hours of sleep so you’re fully rested ! ”.

✦ he’s so loving & he really looks out for you... he’s responsible and sensible by nature. so yeah, that’s probably why your mom is looking at you with those eyes that basically say “you picked a good one”.

✦ however— as mentioned before, sugawara... isn’t as angelic as he may appear. as much as he loves doting on you, he adores playfully teasing you, too! your flustered expression just makes him feel some kinda way.

✦ he probably lovingly teased you even before becoming a couple. why? to grab your attention of course. you appreciate that he never crossed the line, and that he kept it lighthearted.

✦ his love language?? why not all? i mean, i can definitely see words of affirmation (the boy can whip up some really smooth words okay) & physical touch being his main ones. he just can’t help but say what he feels about you; it’s no surprise it’s all good things. but he also adores soft touches... like he may be a bit needy in the sense that he adores holding your hand, or softly pulling you into an embrace just to have you close to him, or giving you a soft head pat—

✦ he may come off as clingy & protective (sugamama—), but he means well! plus, he’s selfless to a fault & always puts you first. problems in your relationship may stem from the fact he neglects his own needs (which adjsdeheh so flipping bittersweet).

✦ he definitely is so touched/moved when you essentially try to pay him back. for example, something as simple as initiating a hug, or giving a meaningful gift, or just hyping him up when he’s feeling down... like JUST seeing his beaming smile is more than enough for you to fall in love with him all over again.

✦ suga doesn’t strike to me as the jealous type, but he does have natural instincts that may make him protective?? like, in his mind, he rationally knows that he’s the one for you, but at the same time, he can’t help but occassionally let others overtly know you’re taken! catch him giving you a surprise kiss when he’s listening to his instincts-

✦ on a different note, your dates with sugawara are especially cute! like, sugawara works to make things run smoothly. you probably go on all the typical dates like movie night or dinner date (he without fail offers to pay), but doing so with sugawara makes it so more fun!

✦ he treats you right: he walks you home, he listens to you with no distraction, he happily lends you his jacket/sweatshirt, and he even gives you piggback rides (even if you’re like “no, no i’m too heavy—”, he’s quick to say “nonsense! besides, i’m pretty strong you know.. i do work out, y/n)”.

✦ by the way, daichi & the whole karasuno volleyball squad totally approve of your relationship. it’s so touching how they support you and sugawara (even if it’s by whistling when he innocently pecks you on the cheek or something)-

✶▐ akaashi keiji ↝

✦ akaashi keiji . . . you mean the epitome of boyfriend material?? i’m not biased i swear.

✦ given that he’s blunt, i can imagine a decent amount of girls turning him away as a potential boyfriend. . . even if he’s such a pretty boy.

✦ but you?? the one who insisted on being with him because of his overall personality & being? not just his looks?? yeah, you better believe he does treat you right.

✦ i just have to say it: STUDY DATES.

✦ akaashi is very smart, so i feel he’d make such a good peer tutor like you don’t even know! he’ll be great at explaining certain problems in a way that even the teacher may fail at doing, and more importantly, he knows how to motivate you to study.

✦ whether you yourself are a smart bean or not, he will cunningly offer sweet rewards to get you to study & retain the needed information. he’s a little more sneaky than you give him credit for— he knows what he’s doing, playing this game.

✦ of course he just wants an excuse to hug & maybe even kiss you - but he swears that he’s doing this for your own good, which technically isn’t a lie.

✦ bokuto definitely helped orchestrate you two getting together. he’s the ultimate wingspiker as well as wingman if you know what i mean. bokuto often made plans for the three of you, and uh, coincidentally he had other things come up the day of those planned meetups (but he didn’t really fool akaashi-). even so, bokuto also somehow expedited the process of akaashi opening up to you, and you’re just... hella grateful.

✦ akaashi is quiet & reserved; it takes a decent amount of time for him to let down his walls... but it’s worth it! once he opens up to you, you find there’s more to him than meets the eye. i mean that could be said for anyone, but akaashi is more protective & sweet to his s/o than people have guessed.

✦ he’s not overly doting or affectionate, but it’s the small things he does that show you he cares. he regularly texts you to see if you’re doing okay or if you got home safe. he makes sure to hover a little closer to you in a way that’s shielding you if he senses someone eyeing you with ill intentions. he doesn’t hesitate to buy you a snack or a drink if your stomach growls (to which you may blush profusely for) or if you look particularly parched. he’s quietly attentive and only the super observant people can catch on to that fact.

✦ acts of service may just be his main love language! he’s ALWAYS looking out for you & doing things that, in retrospect, is really thoughtful & heartwarming.

✦ even his gifts reflect how much time he spends on thinking about you. for example, you’ll be like “akaashi how’d you know i wanted this?” and he’ll simply reply “i remembered seeing you eye this in that one shop we passed by, so i bought it the other day-” and you’re just like “akaashi... that was like eight months ago how did you remember—” “ . . . ”

✦ it’s not to say he’s perfect (imeanifeellikeheisbutthat’sbesidesthepoint) ! he does have moments where he just can’t help but feel a little clingy especially if it’s just the two of you?? like there are moments where he’s very vulnerable around you, and just needs you close to him. it’s moments like these where he’ll pretty much be desiring cuddles and soft kisses— he’ll die if you end up telling bokuto about this side of him though. it’s like a secret side only you get to see, alright?

✦ he gets a bit flustered with pda though... like small pecks and hugs and hand holding is all good, but full on making out is a rare occassion (perhaps when he’s feeling a bit possesive??).

✦ also- just one more thing... akaashi can have sarcastic humor, but in your relationship, you can tell when he’s being serious or if he’s simply teasing you. in fact, the two of you joke around quite a bit?? his laugh is so beautiful. which is so wholesome because that means you’re at that level where akaashi isn’t closed up!

✶▐ oikawa tooru ↝

✦ we all know oikawa got dumped by his girlfriend due to him being “obsessed with volleyball” (cue that scene where it’s nighttime ‘n he’s watching volleyball film with intense concentration)... so the fact he’s got a significant other who accepts how passionate he is about this sport makes him happy beyond words!

✦ so happy that he makes it his obligation to rub it in his teammates’ faces. it makes his teammates royally pissed off especially iwaizumi. of course when it’s on the volleyball court, he’s dialed in, but off the court, he excitedly rambles about the cute or maybe funny things you do. he just loves bragging about you.

✦ if he ever hears about you bragging about having him or hyping him up, he’ll catch all the uwus. it just makes his ego swell ngl. but if you ever hype him up in front of him?? hoo... he’ll combust; it’ll move him so much. he’ll sheepishly say “thank you” because it just caught him off guard.

✦ he pulls you in for cute selfies & pictures literally everywhere you go. it may get old, but the pictures serve as visuals for memories. plus, they always come out good because he knows how to work a camera- his go to pose is the peace sign with his boyish smile.

✦ oikawa’s social media ends up consisting of three things: volleyball, family & you... but ever since you guys started dating, you make quite a lot of appearances on his social media. as such, his teammate tease for this; “it’s basically a fan account for y/n” — kunimi probably.

✦ unfortunately, you may have to deal with some jealous people given that your boyfriend is hella popular. and it’s tiresome because where do people get off?? but, part of the reason why oikawa is so open with his romantic gestures is to show the others that you’re the only one for him. it’s not a question; he’ll choose you over a fan anyday.

✦ oikawa... can be lowkey childish, and i can imagine him being pretty touchy-feely (his love language being physical touch or words of affirmation most likely??). again he’s a bit of a show off, so pda may be a prevalent thing. he’ll probably sit close to you, and he’ll urge you to lay your head on his shoulder if you’re feeling lethargic. or he may give you a surprise kiss when he think you look cute- he can’t resist. but i can imagine him backing off if it makes you uncomfy! he does prize your comfort above his own needs!

✦ he’ll also be much like a puppy in a relationship?? he especially likes it when you initiate those cute couple things- it’s usually him taking the lead, but he’ll adore it when it’s you for a change who wants the affection- it may go two ways: a) he teases you and eventually gives you what you want or b) he just gives in because you’re too cute!

✦ oikawa is an avid texter, responding back pretty quickly (unless he’s at volleyball practice)... anyway, he doesn’t hesitate to send you funny things he found or articles that affirms something he said in turn proving him right about that or just checking in on you. he uses a decent amount of emojis, too, so it’s always amusing to see his barrage of texts. he probably saves texting “i love you” after saying it aloud rather than doing so on a screen first.

✦ why do i feel like you guys go on fun dates?? like take his interest in aliens! for one date destination, you guys probably have visited a site where aliens allegedly landed! and after, you just watch cool sci-fi movies together with plenty of snacks & blankets to cuddle up in. and perhaps on a different date, you guys go to a haunted house (catch oikawa screaming louder than you lol).

✦ he loves it when you support him at his volleyball games!! like, he’ll feel fired up to show off for you because you’re there & he wants your validation okay? (not sure if he’s the type to point to his s/o in the crowd after a good play but maybe??) he’ll also return the favor, supporting you in whatever endeavors you pursue!

✦ speaking of support... his teammates, despite teasing oikawa for being, well, oikawa, definitely support you guys! like, someone who can keep up with oikawa & his antics?? they’re impressed there’s someone like that out there.

✶▐ tendou satori ↝

✦ tendou satori as a boyfriend?? actually more boyfriend material than you’d initially think. like sure, he’ll mess with you a little to evoke cute reactions, but where it counts, he’ll treat you so well.

✦ given that tendou has been bullied & made fun of for his appearance (and name), i feel like he’d never go as far as to make you feel the way he felt when he was branded as a “monster”. he keeps his teasing pretty lighthearted, and he’d never want to seriously degrade you ever.

✦ i feel tendou does have his moments where his confidence is at an all time low. and he naturally seeks you out for reassurance & comfort because your very presence calms him and gives him a mood boost. he visibly lights up if you offer to come over to his dorm room for much needed comfort huggles. it’s times like those that he really feels lucky you’re his and he’ll make sure to return the favor tenfold!

✦ speaking of huggles, tendou’s hugs tend to be pretty tight i’d imagine. like the kind that squeezes you with all the love he wants to show you? he just loves you so much, and he feels his words won’t be enough to convey that. i think he’d love to pull you in for hugs at spontaneous times; not that you’re complaining. also- if you run your hands through his hair during hugs, it drives him crazy—

✦ he’s probably into pda — he’d gladly show you off because he truly believes he struck gold when you became his s/o!! but, he may be receptive to the offhanded comments about you deigning to date someone like tendou. at which point, if you pull him in for a kiss then & there, his spirits would be quite lifted. he doesn’t mind being caught off guard like that, and he’ll definitely try to get one more kiss-

✦ his love language is for sure physical touch! he enjoys the hugging & kissing component of dating a lot; he can’t keep his hands to himself. catch him tryna initiate tickle fights. besides, he practically lives on your physical affection, and he gets a lil’ greedy, wanting more. of course, if you’d ask him for affection, he’ll be lightning quick to give it (well maybe after teasing you for your openness, not that he truly minds it ofc)!

✦ on a totally different note! tendou does enjoy drawing out fun reactions from you. like, he’s the type of boyfriend to scare his s/o for the fun of it... for example, you’re casually waiting around for tendou, and the next thing you know he totally shocked you with his tight hug from behind. it’s sweet & you weren’t expecting it but man that scared you when you didn’t realize who it was at first!! you probably become more alert of your surroundings due to this. of course, he apologized for scaring you, but couldn’t help his chuckle.

✦ he definitely texts you about the randomest things... like, you’re always kept on your toes because you just don’t know what to expect from him when he’s texting?? like, one day, he’ll text you a really cute good morning and the next day, he sends a random meme without any context. by the way, there’s no pattern- you start to think he just texts you randomly because he’s curious on how’d you react.

✦ for some reason i headcanon that he likes to say “i love you” in a sing-songy voice (and ofc he means it), but when he’s in a serious mood, he’ll just come out & say it without any sing-song cadence. it just hits different i’d say because his serious expression matches what he’s trying to convey.

✦ oh for dates?? you guys could literally go anywhere, and it would be so much fun! like— amusement parks are a go... aquariums... hikes... petting zoos... internet cafes... you name it! you two can find fun in any sort of date because you both knows it’s always the companion that matters more than the actual activity. tendou definitely holds your hand a lot on a date— squeezing gently now & again because he doesn’t really want to let go (tendou your protective side is showing skdueus).

✦ tendou’s teammates actually like you a lot by the way... you make tendou really happy (which is something semi noticed right away). at first, they were a little surprised someone would genuinely date him, but given your wholesome interactions with him, they give you two thumbs up— even if they’re slightly envious tendou’s got a girl.

#haikyuu headcanons #hq headcanons #hq hcs #haikyuu headcanon #hq headcanon #hq hc #kageyama tobio #sugawara koushi #akaashi keiji #tendou satori #headcanons #haikyuu #hq #lily writes

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spirit-of-the-void · 6 years ago

Text

Ebony and Ivory (V x Reader Fanfic) Chapter 8

Author’s Notes: This chapter took so long I am so sorry.

Chapter 8

That line alone was enough to send your heart pounding into a frenzy.

I’ll be gentle.

This was neither the time not place to feel turned on by the poet, but his words of challenge sent a warm feeling ablaze in your stomach. You were sure your face was red, but you moved so fast that nobody had a chance to notice. Battle now, focus on your horrible train of thoughts later—the horseman was attacking. You summoned tendrils from your body, shooting to the side and trying to wrap them around the horse’s feet as you ran. It drew its attention to you, the creature turning with an angry shriek as the rider’s eyes settled blankly on your battle-ready form. This left him open to V’s attacks, or rather, Griffon and Shadow’s. You saw V whip out his book of poetry, pointing the cane with his free hand. His eyes were so focused on the battle, expression almost entranced as he ordered the two to attack.

Griffon went flying over the horseman, slamming lightning into the ground with a maniac cackle of delight. He focused a ball of lightning, sending a huge burst of bright purple out to slam into the stoic rider. You let out a low whistle—Griffon had some new attacks. Shadow did as well, descending on the pair of enemies and turning into a set of spinning blades. The horseman tried to defect it with its strange, bladed weapon, but there was only so much you could do to hold back a spinning black mass of angry panther. He and the horse ended up hit, rearing back with angry grunts of pain. You used that moment of distraction to send tendrils lashing out like whips, aiming for the legs of the creature this demon was riding. It appeared less than pleased, turning to fix you in place with glowing blue eyes and fire dripping from its maw.

Yikes.

It reared back again, sending out a blue orb of an attack that exploded into a dome on impact, right over you. You turned to dash to the side, but found yourself moving in slow motion. Your eyes jerked up in shock, seeing the rider turn in real time to point his weapon at you. Several shots of lightning orbs came hurtling your way, you just barely managing to make it out of the dome in enough time to dodge. You spiraled over the ground, landing in a low slide as the attack meant for you sent explosions all over the pavement and nearby buildings. That definitely wasn't good. You were sure the horse leveled that one, not the man on his back. The demon horse had some fancy skills, that was for sure.

You heard Griffon let out a startled noise as he watched this happen, swooping down to snatch you and get you out of the way of another dome attack. He brought you around to the other side, depositing you beside Shadow before flying away to attack on his own again. You shot a glance at V, seeing a peculiar expression on his face as he looked up from his book, seeing the way these creatures fought and what kind of attacks they had. He looked troubled, but a look of understanding passed over his eyes as he snapped his fingers, sending Nightmare slamming out of a portal in the sky and landing right on the rider and his horse. You winced—that had to hurt. Nightmare was a heavy boy, and falling from that height gave him some oomph.

“Be careful V!” Griffon squawked from overhead, swinging around to send lightning over the battlefield, "He's got horsepower!"

“I’ll take that momentum...and send it right back.” V replied in that silken tone, only now having the edge of battle.

You rolled your eyes at the bird’s pun, sweeping back around to try and keep the agro off the poet while he read. You summoned more tendrils, grabbing onto the horse’s back legs while it bucked and kicked to try and snap them. The momentum made you grunt, arms straining from holding fast. The horse was very strong and determined, oddly enough stronger than Nidhogg. You planted your feet into the ground, heels of your boots skidding over the earth as the horse whipped around and tried to snap your attack away. The rider fixed his gaze on you again, shooting several warning shots at you as you flipped away. Shit, this was not gonna be a fun fight. You felt a cloud of icy air leave your lungs, your hand grasping your chest as you slid back from the creature and met V’s gaze.

You were close to your limits.

V gave you a look of understanding before addressing the battlefield again, eyes cold and focused as he circled the bucking horse, your tendrils now falling away now that you had taken a step back to breath. Nightmare was shooting lasers out of his eye, lines of explosions traveling past you and just far enough away that you didn’t get hurt, thankfully. Nightmare at least had good aim. Griffon circled over you nervously, shooting lightning at the horseman from afar while also seemingly staying close to make sure he could help you if need be. Touching, really. But V was the target of the horse’s gaze now, dodging three separate domes of whatever that ability was before pointing his cane to make Shadow attack. The mighty cat reared its head to roar, sending a folly of spikes down the battlefield.

Much to your shock, the rider on the horse finally spoke. He turned that empty gaze to V, voice a deep rasp as he addressed the sandal wearing goth.

“Weak, powerless creatures.” It said simply, sending a shower of electric orbs in his direction. Griffon darted over to pull V out of the way, entering a time-slowing dome in just enough time to rescue the poet. Worry was filling you now—this battle was bad for your anxiety, that was for sure.

Griffon let out a cocky chuckle at the creature’s words, dropping V back down and sneering lightly, “Oh ho! So? You got a comeback for that?”

V let out a low hum, head tilted and gaze still set on the enemy as he replied, “One thought fills immensity.”

Griffon let out an annoyed groan, sleeping past the poet as he squawked, “This is not the time for poetry!” He paused, confusion entering his tone as he added, “Wait, what does that even mean?”

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” V replied in a low purr, whipping his book back out again once Nightmare disappeared, “Now let’s go!”

His words made you huff lightly, rolling your shoulders and testing your tendrils out of your hands. You could afford to expend a little more, you needed to help however you could. Or else Griffon’s first words would have been right—you didn’t want to become dead weight on them. If you extended, Nico would be back within the hour and you could rest. Then tomorrow was another day, you could all set out and get shit done as needed. You grit your teeth, sending as many tendrils as you could spare over to V, passing him some energy before he could notice and scold you. You saw him gasp, eyes jerking over to look at you just as the tendrils left him. You saw several emotions passing over his face, but a calm smile remained on yours. You weren’t done, not yet. Just a little bit more.

The rider sent the horse rearing back, slamming back down and sending a shock wave of lightning over the floor. You leapt back, clinging to a light pole by your tendrils to avoid the attack. The horse let out an unholy screech, blowing clouds of steam out its nostrils as several dome attacks shot out of his mouth, landing near you, on V, and off to the side. V grunted, body motion slowed as he turned and lifted his cane for Griffon to grab him. They narrowly dodged more lightning, coming to a sliding halt outside the dome. V scowled a bit—it was an interesting expression on his usually soft face. A part of his long coat had been singed on the bottom. He missed that attack in a very narrow window, it would seem.

“The power to control time...” He murmured, rolling his shoulders as he walked to the side, pulling out his poetry again. You had to give him credit, he was flawless in execution when it came to putting the book away and taking it out again, “That’s quite a horse.”

Griffon let out a sound of agreement, but his tone was perplexed as he replied, “But that would mean it’s Geryon! I thought Dante killed it already!”

Dante, the devil-hunter your group was trying to help save. If he could kill this horse, he had to be impressive.

V let out a low hum of agreement, jade eyes fixed on said horse as he replied, “A rare species, but apparently not quite extinct,” He gave a half smirk, a cocky expression on his face as he added, “Until today, that is.”

You rolled your eyes at the both of them, calling over, “Focus now, exposition later."

You thought you heard V laugh, but you weren’t sure. Griffon was easy to tell, a loud snort leaving him as he swept past you.

The fight didn’t seem to last as long as you had anticipated, and it was strangely going off without a hitch. You provided back-up however you could, some tendrils attached to V here and there to help get him away, one snapping through the battlefield to trip up some of the horse’s legs. V had found a system of sorts you both were following—you'd protect him as he read his poems, charging himself with enough power to summon Nightmare. Seeing the creature made you wistful—he had such big arms, perfect for hugging, but you only ever saw him during fights. You rarely got the chance to talk to him either, or interact at all. You were determined to get a hug from the big, hulking creature at some point. As with the other familiars, you were determined now. But it wasn’t the time to focus on it, the fight was coming to a steady end.

Or so you thought.

The horse was wheezing and panting as the attacks of the familiars slammed into it, still trying to whip around and attack even as its back legs buckled. You would have felt bad if the horse hadn’t tried to kill you all at first glance. You knew it was finished, leaning against a light pole as V approached the defeated beast. He was looking a pretty exhausted, but that smile was still on his face as he readied his cane. He darted forward, Griffon lifting him up just as the horse reared its mighty head, staring at him with profound hated as V slammed his cane into its neck. It released a scream of agony, bright blue sparks filling the air as the rider slumped forward on it and V let out a sharp grunt of exertion. You let out a light breath, not paying as much attention as you should. Not watching as much as you should.

You should have been watching.

V smirked in the horse’s face, his voice a breathy purr as he quoted, “The hours of folly are measur’d by the clock, but of wisdom—no clock can measure," He whipped the cane out of its neck in a shower of blue particles, illuminating his face as growled, “Die!”

The horse let out a dying gurgle. Head whipping around as its body began to crumble into purple sparks. You thought it would end there, you thought it would be like every other fight, a fight where V would wipe his hands of the enemy and you’d be on your way. But you hadn’t been paying attention enough, body tired and slowed by you being close to reaching exertion. When your eyes finally looked up to realize you were mistaken, it was too late for you or Griffon to stop it from happening. Your gaze locked on V as he landed the finishing blow, foresight flaring heavily without warning and the realization kicking in that something was about to go terribly wrong.

As V was pulling out the cane, the horse’s eyes glowed for the last time. He let out a rasping screech, rearing back his and releasing what you realized too late was one last time stopping attack. V fell back in slow motion, eyes going wide when the realization set in. You heard Griffon let out an alarmed shout, moving at the same time as you to grab the poet. But the rider was faster. In his remaining strength he lifted his weapon, sending it slamming into V’s upper shoulder and chest. All the breath left your lungs in a scream, energy flaring to send tendrils up to shoot through the riders shoulders and arms. He let out a grunt of pain, retracting the blades and sending V flying away with a kick. Both slid away from the horse’s disintegrating body.

You heard V’s pained cry, his body caught by Griffon’s talons and slowly set down on the ground. You felt your eyes burn, panic filling you when you saw a nasty wound dripping blood from his right shoulder, blood tracking down his black tattoos. The rider collapsed, weakened and battered before making a hasty retreat away. He managed to clear the crumbling brambles, the path he took blocked by the debris in an instant. You saw V try to stand, alarm filling you as you darted to his side and instantly summoned the bag of materials Nico had given you. Bad bad. This was bad. You were starting to feel the exertion, hands trembling as you fumbled for bandages, for anything that could help. You could feel your heart roaring in your ears, mind going numb at the sight of his blood dripping onto concrete.

“V...!” Your tone echoed the panic in your brain, cracking like you were on the verge of tears.

“You fucking idiot!” Griffon screeched at V, holding the poet back when he tried to stand, "Don’t fucking move dumbass!”

"I’m...fine...” V said in a weak, breathless tone, “I must chase him...! If the devil sword Sparda still exists...It may very well be our only hope...!”

Again with that stupid god damn sword. It was the bane of your existence at that moment.

“If you haven’t noticed you’re bleeding all over the fucking place!” Griffon snapped while your mouth was frozen in panic. You could barely breath, you didn’t know what to do. You were so close to breaking yourself with your power, how the hell were you supposed to heal him without making yourself useless? This kind of a wound went through and through, it would take steady hours of energy transference.

“He....he can’t stay here...” Your voice was shaking, eyes meeting the poet’s with pure panic. Your foresight was flaring wildly out of control, signaling oncoming danger still in the area, “We need to move...!”

You no sooner spoke when a rumbling echo filled the air, making the ground tremble. From the tunnel you exited out of you saw demons rising out in the distance. Dozens of them. All the ones you had bypassed before seemed to want to follow, smelling the blood of the poet now as it steadily dripped down, mingling with the still-falling rain water. You had nowhere to go—the way forward was blocked and the way back was blocked by them as they steadily approached. There was no hiding the smell, no hiding at all. Things had gone from seemingly manageable to completely wrecked in an instant, your mind reeling at the prospect of V dying to your incompetence. Think think think. You had to think. You had been through these scenarios before, there had to be a solution.

You looked at Griffon, seeing fear in his glowing gold eyes for once instead of mischief. Shadow immediately whipped around to stand in front of you all, baring its teeth in warning to the slowly approaching demons. You realized belatedly that in this fight, all they could do was attack. They couldn't kill demons, and V couldn't be left to bleed out on the floor. You let out a low, sharp curse, pulling off your top and turning back to the poet. You wrapped it around the wound, hating how his eyes were already closing tiredly from the blood loss. The pressure on his open would made him gasp in pain, eyes opening again as he clutched at the spot. His pallor was already bad, teeth gritted in agony and gaze meeting yours.

“I’m sorry,” He breathed, “This was my error.”

You shook your head, pressing on the wound again before looking around at your surroundings. There was a door nearby to what looked like a small apartment with a garage attached. The garage was open just enough to pull V through, and that seemed the easiest place to go at the moment. You needed to make a choice, and make it fast—you already knew what needed to be done. Nico wouldn’t be back from the other side of the city with Nero for another forty minutes or so, and you were more than willing to break yourself to keep people safe. You had done it before.

You saw V’s eyes close, head lolling back a bit as he slipped in and out of consciousness. Your heart pounded faster, adrenaline filling you now. You were running out of time.

“Get him in there!” You pointed to the garage, tone leaving no room for argument as you looked at Griffon, “When you do keep pressure on the wound! You and Shadow make sure nothing gets through...!”

“What?!” He screeched, alarm in his tone as you stood, giving your shoulders a light roll, “Don’t be a dumbass too! You can’t take that many demons you moron!”

“I can take it,” You breathed, the cold chill of the Void filling your lungs as you took a few steps away from them. You spared a look back, heart squeezing at the sight of V with his eyes closed and face still filled with pain. It was better he didn’t see; it was better he not witness you. You turned again, determination filling you as the demons neared the courtyard. Sacrifices must be made, a price to be paid, “Just go, Griffon!”

You heard the bird release a stream of curses, but blessedly he started dragging the poet away. Shadow let out a worried, small sound of a roar at you. You looked back again, knowing what the cat would see when you met its gaze. You saw its red eyes blink at you, seeing the black of your pupils expand, swallowing your irises and whites until only the black remained. The cat took a step back, bowing its head a bit before turning and grabbing V’s collar, helping the bird quickly drag him away. You let out a slow, trembling breath, feeling Griffon’s gaze on you. He would see, but you would have to trust him to keep his mouth shut about you were about to do.

Your gaze drifted back to the demons, hand instinctively pulling out one of your new daggers as you faced them. They walked to your sides, in front, meaning to corner you and attack all at once. They would not get the chance. You tipped your head, face deadly calm as you lifted the dagger, feet planted firmly as the energy inside flared, the exertion hitting you but halted by the words ready to exit your mouth. Cold, echoing over the rain, echoing across dimensions. You had spoken these words before, but when? That cut on your palm belonged there—you stared at it, echoes of memories crawling up your spine. It was a sacrifice to be made, for the price of pain.

You lifted the dagger, sliding the sharp edge over the scar, black eyes staring down the demons as you spoke, words written in obsidian.

“Spirit of the deep, Siren of dreams,” You didn’t feel the blade, but pain burst in the rest of your being. Still, your words never wavered. You had done this before after all, “He of all things. Of cradle songs and bones gnawed by teeth.”

An eerie feeling settled over the clearing. The demons all froze as a low, hushed sound echoed from all around. Your hair began to rise, the red of your blood dripping from your palm and onto the pavement. One drip. Two. Then three. Then four. You counted until six had fallen, clouds of icy air leaving your lungs and forming fog around you. The rain pattering all around slowed, droplets beginning to rise around your form with several pieces of pavement and debris. The Void was here, in all things, whispered in the cracks of space and time. A dark place, a reminder all should heed. You heard the familiar, distance howl of tormented voices fill the air, sending shivers up your spine. You wished you didn’t have to put Griffon and Shadow through this.

“You rule my dreams, there in the dark splendor of the deep,” You voice whispered, somehow louder than everything in the space, “There the ocean rests on your back, like a sleeping child on his father’s shoulders.”

Time seemed to slow as you spoke. You resisted the urge to rub your eyes, blinking when the area in front of you warped a bit. You swore you saw the Void in its terrible brilliance, the carcass of a whale floating by and staring at you. You let out heavy breaths, closing your eyes and accepting the swirling energy of the Void as you called upon your deity for his aid, begging and pleading for the power to protect the people behind you. There would be a price, there always was. You were ready for it, because you had done this before. The memories were louder now, screaming at the top of their lungs about all the reminders they held. You had done this before. And it will hurt.

You were ready for it to hurt.

When you opened your eyes again, the Deity was toe to toe with you. You heard Griffon gasp. You knew others could just faintly see the Deity when summoned, but he wouldn’t be able to remember when he looked like later. A low bass rumble filled the air, making your ears ring and fingers shake as a god had now shown itself in this place, a place he didn’t belong. His black eyes took up your vision, unblinking and unmoving as he took your hand, pressing against the wound until it stung terribly. You didn’t wince, you didn’t dare move.

You continued speaking, voice still unrelenting as you stared at the being before you.

“In these sleepless nights of despair,” You whispered, smelling the cold and dark taste of the Void on his breath as he hummed, listening to you speak with a quiet interest, amusement if you weren’t mistaken, “You appear to me. Not as the mighty leviathan, but as a young man—”

This was your invocation. Your sacrifice. Say it.

“— With eyes as black as the Void.”

The Deity closed his eyes with a low hum, leaning his head down so his chin rested on your head. Akin to a fatherly embrace, he whispered to you as his power filled every part of you, limbs burning and trembling as you stared ahead at the demons frozen to the spot.

You know the price, His voice echoed in your mind, but his mouth didn’t move as he pulled away. He brought a bead of your blood to his mouth, tasting it on a grey tongue. Was that the color? For every drop paid is an hour gained. But for every hour gained is another hour suffered.

Six drops of blood. Six hours of his blessing. Then, balanced, six hours of agony. You knew what must be done.

You nodded, taking a step back as the Deity smiled widely, his image evaporating before your eyes as everything began to move again. The floating debris fell, landing all around as rain started to drench your trembling frame. You could hear Griffon panting in shock, still dragging V away even as he still watched. You fought a sigh—you wish he hadn’t seen that. It was more explaining you'd have to do later. But that was fine, you were ready for it. You’d have six hours to do so, after all. The wound on your palm fused immediately, the reminder still there of the price that was paid as you squeezed shut a fist, lifting your black eyes to the screaming, approaching demons again. You had to make this quick—that time you gained would have to be spent healing V. Nothing more.

You had the energy to expend now, as if the Deity’s puppet strings were woven around your bones, around the culmination of your being. You moved barely feeling it, all fatigue gone in the moments you now had. The Deity’s breath was in your lungs, like icy hands in your chest. It was pain, glorious pain, and you could handle it with grace.

You could do something incredible with this.

Several demons began to lunge at you, claws outstretched and sharp teeth ready to bite into your flesh. They wouldn’t get the chance.

You rose a hand, teeth grit as you hissed out, “From being, into Death.”

Tendrils shot out of the ground all around you, black in color this time. Thousands of them, impaling demons through several parts of their bodies as the tendrils traveled along the ground. The large group of demons was swept to the side, screaming in fear as the huge, writhing mass of tendrils descended upon them in a wave of pain and death. It curled into the sky, stabbing and jutting out until one demon remained, piercing so many spikes into its body it burst apart. A huge mass of tendrils remained, curling around the courtyard in a behemoth show of strength. This was the power of the Void, pure and simple. Not a single demon remained, all beginning to disintegrate into nothingness as a cold breeze blew over the courtyard, colder than it should be in June.

You heard Griffon let out a shocked gasp, watching the tendrils detach from you, turning slowly into black crystal. The entire structure began to harden, turning into the glittering mass similar to what you had given Nico earlier. The adrenaline was fading now, turning into a deep panic and anxiety as you panted out breaths, afraid to turn around. You had done something terribly amaze, frightening. And Griffon and Shadow saw it. You needed to focus; your fear came after helping V. He was first priority.

You turned, eyes going back to normal as you followed the line of blood, seeing Griffon peaking his beak out of the opening with Shadow’s snout. You slid in, meeting Griffon’s gaze briefly before looking at V. He was propped against a nearby wall in the empty garage, holding the wound himself and panting out harsh breaths. You froze, meeting his gaze with one of pure panic. He was awake, he was awake while you had attacked. Did he see? You felt your heart pounding so hard it hurt, resisting the urge to dig your nails into your palms. His eyes were half closed, expression pained as his jade gaze held yours for a moment. You swallowed; the silence now held over the space making your panic even worse. Summoning your courage, you produced tendrils, lifting the poet up and hurrying to a nearby door.

He grunted in agony as soon as you did, making you jump and squeak, “S...sorry...! I’m so sorry...!” You didn’t know what you were apologizing for, so many regrets mingling in your brain as you opened the door, hoping to god the place you picked was still in one peace.

Much to your shock and relief, V managed a grim half smile, voice very weak as he replied, “Don’t apologize. This...was my mistake.”

“You’re damn right it is!” Griffon suddenly snarled, making you jump a bit as you turned to look at him. His feathers were puffed out, look of shock gone as he glared at the poet, “You know better than to do stupid shit like that, V! This whole situation is absolutely fucked!”

You felt guilt pour over you, carefully moving V inside and looking around. It appeared to be a simple, one-bedroom apartment. Everything was in one space—the floor was raised on the far wall where the bed rested with some small tables and a dresser. On the lowered floor was a couch facing a television on the wall. A little, quaint kitchen was tucked away in the corner with a tiny dining room table. And you assumed the closed door to the side was a bathroom. You sighed in relied—no roots had broken through here yet. You quickly walked over a plush rug on the floor, clearing the two steps leading up to the bed and setting V down there. He gasped in pain as soon as you gently sat him up, his skin somehow paler than usual.

“I’m so sorry...!” You whimpered worriedly, holding him up with the tendrils as you eased one side of his vest away. The wound looked absolutely nasty, making bile rise in your throat a bit. You swallowed again, trying to calm the rising panic, “I was here to help and I couldn’t even manage to stop this.”

V let out a shaken breath, closing his eyes as he managed, “Don’t do that. It isn’t your fault.”

“You did plenty out there,” Griffon added in a shocked tone, making you wince. He landed on the bed, staring at you with a mix of awe and confusion, “How have you not reached your limit yet after that fucking slaughter fest? I thought for sure you'd be on the floor by now.”

V let out a grunt, eyeing you with heavy concern as he rasped, “Are you alright, Y/N?”

You shushed him, ignoring the question and helping ease his black vest off his shoulders. You could only briefly admire his black tattoos wrapping all the way down to his waist—there were definitely more important things to focus on. You recalled for a moment that you were already standing there in just a bralette top and your shorts. You would feel awkward later, but now was definitely not the time. Once the poet was free of his leather coat, you pulled the bandages from your bag. He was panting from the pain already, probably suffering from heavy blood loss. The area around the wound was black and blue, bruised and inflamed. The rider hit him good. There was a lot of damage.

You wrapped a few tendrils around that shoulder, closing your eyes as you activated your energy.

“Y/N,” V began to protest, grabbing one of your wrists as you murmured a new spell, “You cant...!”

“Through the Void, Flesh is woven,” You breathed, ignoring his complaints. You gave him a little energy, enough to remove the bruising and prevent any infection. He slumped a little when you did, a low gasp escaping his full lips as you caught him before he could fall forward. You smiled softly, watching his eyes close again once the magic began to take effect, “I can only give you a little at a time...Too much of this energy at a time would be agonizing and could hurt you worse. This will take a few hours.”

He was panting, eyes still closed as he replied in a low rasp, “I’m not a fool...This won’t come without cost,” He lifted his jade eyes, lifting a weak arm to gently grasp your chin. You blinked at him, frozen in place for a second as he continued to stare into your eyes, still out of breath as he continued, “This is not what I want. You...Shouldn’t be breaking yourself to help me.”

You offered a soft smile to him, gently holding his wrist in your hand as you did something you absolutely hated.

You lied to him.

“I’m okay,” You said, keeping your tone calm and soothing as you began to wrap bandages around his body. Inside you were already counting the moments. Five hours and fifty-five minutes, thirty seconds. Twenty-nine seconds. You had that much time to get him back to how he was, “I called upon my deity to help, but I can only do it once. He bought me some time and extra energy."

V stared at you in concern still, seeming unconvinced. His eyes closed despite that, wincing as you wrapped the wound. You were glad this bed was clean, with a blanket and fitted sheets. You held the back of his head as you eased him back, Shadow jumping onto the bed with a worried look in their bright red eyes. They curled up beside V, head resting on big paws as they watched their master take rasping breaths. You pulled the blanket over him, hands still shaky as you smoothed the black hair out of his face. He was still hurt badly; you’d have to time this right.

“Just rest and let me take care of things,” You murmured to him, watching his eyes tiredly open again, "I'll heal you a few times an hour, not too much. Just focus on resting.”

You stood to get up, letting go of his hand to search around the apartment a bit. But you felt him grip your wrist again, stopping your momentum before you could even take a step.

You looking back down at him, surprised at the expression he wore. His face was...frightened. The look he gave you reminded you of a child—so vulnerable, more vulnerable than you had ever seen him. You met his jade gaze, feeling his hand squeeze your wrist as much as he could must. If you weren’t mistaken, his fingers were trembling. And that broke you a bit, heart hammering and aching at the same time. That feeling came back to you, the feeling that V had not been given enough support growing up. Being sick, being hurt...They were terrible things to go through without a shoulder to lean on. Especially while young. He said he had lost a mother, and made no mention of a father. You were willing to bet he had been hurt before, only this time you were here to support him.

And he wasn’t used to that.

“Please don’t leave me,” He rasped, making you suck in a sharp breath. You were sure Griffon did as well, the bird quiet for once in his life. V took another shaking breath, voice weak and tired as he added, “Please, Y/N.”

Feeling like your heart was breaking into a million pieces, you sat back on the bed, leaning against the headboard next to him and slipping your hand into his. You squeezed gently, offering him a soft smile as you kept holding on.

“I’m not going anywhere,” You promised, leaning your head back and closing your eyes, “I was going to look around for some towels, but that can wait. We’re all drenched.”

“I've got it." Griffon said with a grunt, causing you both to look at him as he flapped his wings and went gliding to the bathroom door. You smiled—he would have to figure out how to turn a knob on his own.

You turned your eyes back to V, watching in relief as he closed his eyes again, relaxing now that you were sitting with him. His hand was colder than usual, fingers still trembling a bit. You focused your energy, giving him a small dose of healing to try and ease his pain. Just a little bit, one small piece at a time. He released a light sigh at the sensation, hand squeezing yours and making your heart patter excitedly. You mentally scolded yourself, wanting to groan at your own state of being affection starved. Even just touching him in this small bit was making you happy, mingling with the absolute worry and fear him being injured caused. You wished you could hold his hand under better circumstances.

“Forgive me,” He murmured, making you blink in surprise. He opened those jade eyes again, the vulnerability still there, “I fear I lean on you...far too much.”

You smiled at that, eyes gentle as you replied, “How fortunate for you, I love being leaned on,” You couldn’t help yourself—you stroked his hair back again, making a face when you realized it was still wet. You murmured a light spell to dry off as much of him as you could, just to make him more comfortable, “That’s why I am here.”

He let out another breath, slender chest rising and falling lightly, "You shouldn't have to bear my burdens. Not when this task was my burden alone to make right.”

You let out a gentle hum at that, closing your eyes and leaning your head back, "But I want to. And besides...you're my friend, and that makes your burdens mine," You smiled opening your eyes slightly and staring ahead as you recalled every moment aching and hoping, wishing you were close enough to people to be considered worth their time, “And being able to have a person I care enough about to bare their burdens...It feels nice.”

V went quiet, you could feel his gaze still on you.

When he finally replied, his tone was thoughtful, lilting, “Yet you keep all your burdens to yourself,” You looked at him, startled. His gaze met yours, far too searching and knowing as he gave you that half smile you were starting to adore with his voice breathy and soft, “You drift in and out a lot, you admit that things have hurt you. And yet...your lips remain tightly shut.”

You looked away, unable to find the words to reply. Probably only proving his point. He was right, you knew that. But you didn’t want him to see weakness, the pain of being useless a huge reminder you wanted to forget. It never left you, always there and clawing at your insides.

You only sent more energy into him, making him suck in a sharp breath and continue.

“You are by far the strangest woman I have met,” He said with a pained chuckle, closing his eyes again, “Yet that’s easily the most comforting thing in my existence right now.”

You noticed he said “existence” and not “Life.” Still, his words made you feel warm, from your toes to your ears. Your lies and half-truths were daggers in your chest, digging in every time you breathed. You closed your eyes too, wishing desperately that you could cry, that you could break down. You needed it, craved it, ached for it. It had been so long since you outright sobbed, broke down and shattered. It was now occurring to you that you and V were two broken individuals tap-dancing around trauma, trying to find peace any way you could. Wanting to reach out with arms chained by broken memories. And that wasn’t fair, not after everything you had faced. Why deny yourself the things that made you happy?

You leaned down, pressing a small kiss to V’s forehead. You heard him suck in a small breath, but his eyes didn’t open. His hand squeezed yours, steady now. No longer trembling.

“Get some rest,” You murmured, “Please? For me. I promise I’ll still be here.”

He let out a low, tired hum, resting his body fully on the sheets. You counted heartbeats, watching him with a gentle expression as you shared a small, quiet moment with him. He was by far the most fascinating person you had met. There was something mesmerizing about him, watching his face relax into sleep. Eyelashes resting on pale skin, hair brushed back from his forehead. His face took on a soft expression, peaceful now that he was away from pain. You let out a slow breath, putting your free hand to your mouth now that you had a moment to process what you had done. Christ in heaven. You couldn’t believe you had kissed his head.

And worse, you couldn’t believe you wanted to do it again.

So lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear Griffon approach. He landed softly on the bed, dropping a towel from his beak and whispering at you.

“You think I didn’t see that?” He caroled quietly, making you jump a little, “My eyes see all, toots. And I’ve seen enough to know you’ve got it bad.”

You flushed a little, grabbing the towel with your free hand and tossing Griffon a dirty look as you hissed, “Wake him and die, bird. Also, mind your own birdie business.”

Griffon huffed, perching himself on the end of the bed’s frame, “It is my business, it's totally my business,” He sounded downright delighted, evil even, “Two whole days huh? That must be a record."

You threw the towel at him once you finished drying V’s bare upper half, the bird dodging it easily with a chuckle.

“Hey, I’m not judging,” He quipped, picking the towel up with his talons, a glint in those golden eyes, "You need a wingman? I'll volunteer, just for you toots. Nothing would please me more.”

“One more word,” You warned quietly, gently releasing V's hand so you could stand without jostling him, “And I’ll hand you over to Nico.”

Luckily enough, once he entered sleep it was deep. His chest was rising and falling steadily, lips parted enough to make you want to...

Bad thoughts.

You shook your head, quietly doing a run through of the air as Griffon chuckled to himself. Luckily, Shadow was quiet support on the bed, keeping V warm and making sure he wasn’t disturbed. You appreciated that.

You kept up a cycle of sorts for a few hours. You would look through the apartment, picking up small things you would need as you went. The bathroom first—you tested the shower, disappointed to find no water came out. Whatever, you would live. There was a medkit in the bathroom, along with a few other small things you tucked into your bag. Part of you felt bad, but you doubted the person who lived here would miss it. After searching one place, you’d go back to heal V, humming the tune to the Drunken Whaler as you did. He woke up a couple of times, but always fell back asleep as soon as you were there.

Three more hours.

By the time you hit the halfway point, it was darkness outside. You found several candles around the place, along with what looked to be a camping lantern under the bathroom sink. You kept the room illuminated dimply, not wanted to risk hurting yourself in the darkness of night. It must have been midnight by now, the rain still falling steadily. You checked the kitchen, finding bottles of water and various other cans of food. Just what you needed. Those were tucked away as well, but you left some water on the bedside table for the next time V woke up. Opening the fridge was a mistake--you gagged at rotting food. No electricity here either. Oh well. Meanwhile, Griffon watched your process in amusement, making quips here and there about you and your "crush". You ignored them for the most part.

Two hours.

You weren’t feeling tired, but you knew that was the deal your Deity made with you keeping you energized. You took the time to strip off your boots and socks, changing in the bathroom into the shirt and panties Nico had given you. You sighed in relief, looking at yourself in the mirror. Your legs were a little bruised from fighting, illuminated by florescent lights. You looked at your face, having not seen it in a long time. You rarely looked at your reflection—it startled you sometimes. There were moments it didn’t feel like you, like a stranger was staring back. But those lips opened when yours did, those eyes blinked. Your hair was still damp, wavy now as you ran a hand through it and pulled it over one shoulder. This was still you.

You dried your shorts, pulling them back on and deciding to let the other stuff air dry. You had more important things to focus on.

One hour.

You healed V more and more, checking on his bandage and relieved to find the wound was well on its way to being fully sealed. Scar tissue was there now, pink and jagged on the edges. So close, just one more hour of healing. You wanted to make sure he was at least functional before then. Luckily, he had spent a good portion of the time resting, drinking water and doing what you asked. Nervousness and regret squeezed you—time was almost up and he was going to know you lied. You felt terrible, guilty. But you didn’t want him worried while healing. You tried not to dwell on it.

In the remaining hour you checked the landline phone, disappointed when it didn’t work. You were meant to meet Nico hours earlier—you hoped they hadn’t left yet, or that she wasn’t angry. Some things just always managed to get in the way, it would seem. You let out a sigh, sitting down gently on the bed and transferring some more healing energy. You stretched, joints popping with the motion. Griffon chuckled again, drawing your attention to him.

“Y’know,” He shook his head, tone oddly soft, “You sure are somethin’.”

You frowned, “What do you mean?”

He jerked his beak in V’s direction, making you look at his sleeping form.

“I’ve been with Shakespeare for a whole month,” Griffon scoffed quietly, shaking out his feathers, "The poor bastard is shut up tighter than my asshole. A complete fucking enigma. Yet here you are, working tirelessly to heal up his pretty boy ass, showing a molecule of human decency and he falls to pieces. And stranger still, you fucking enjoy it.”

He shook his head, letting out a short, quiet laugh.

“You humans sure are somethin’,” He peered at you, golden gaze steady and searching, “But you’re more than some garden variety human.”

That made your heart pick up, hands resting on your lap as you looked away.

When you replied, your tone was soft, filled with a regret building for more years than you could count.

“I was once,” You whispered, eyes staring at your feet, “I was once and it was so terrible I felt to pieces. And now I’m here, and I’m more. And all I want...is to be loved. And to help others.”

Griffon paused at that, shaking his head again. He let out a light laugh. You heard him flap lightly, landing on your shoulders and gently pressing his face to the side of yours. You blinked in surprise at the tender action, gently cupping his beak and nuzzling back. Something about the motion made you want to cry, eyes burning a little as you closed them again.

“You and Shakespeare really are somethin’,” Griffon muttered softly, tone still gruff yet also gentle, “Cut from that same damn cloth, haunted by nightmares. A damn shame, if you ask me.”

You smiled softly, gently scratching the side of his head, “It isn’t all bad. My suffering led me to you all.”

Griffon let out a snort, nipping your cheek lightly as he grunted, “Bold of you to assume meeting me is anything but a curse, toots.”

That made you giggle a bit, mouth opening a bit to reply.

You didn’t get the chance.

Time is up.

Agony slammed into you like a thousand razors cutting through your chest and stomach, sending you forward as you doubled over and landed on the floor. Griffon squawked in alarm, barely managing to catch you from falling forward again. All the energy, all the power was gone from you in an instant, body collapsing under the weight of agony and fatigue and... everything. You were wheezing, barely able to breath and room tilting back and forth. You couldn’t focus, you couldn’t feel your legs. And worse, you felt bile rising steadily in your throat, stomach churning like the sea in a storm. You were going to hurl, and you couldn’t stop it.

You tried to stand, barely able to hear Griffon yelling at you, asking you if you were alright. You couldn’t focus. The Void was whispering, screaming in your ear as you tried to rise, hand pressed to your mouth. You stumbled, Griffon catching you and somehow managing to help you to the bathroom in enough time to puke. You bypassed the toilet, collapsing over the tub and releasing the contents of your stomach, over and over. Bile first, then eventually a familiar and unwelcome taste entered your mouth. Disgusting, making you gag more even as the disgusting liquid left you, glowing a light, eerie blue as it splattered into the tub. Whale oil—you had exerted so far you were vomiting bile from the Void, body shaking and alight with pain.

Griffon was panicking, landing next to you as you vomited a couple more times, wheezing and choking on your own stomach contents.

“God damn it!” He shrieked, nosing your face with his beak as you weakly lifted your head, “Fuck! What’s happening to you?! What the fuck happened?! Fuck, fuck this isn’t good—please tell me what to do!”

You had never heard him this scared, but you couldn’t reply. You were fading out.

You lifted one trembling hand as you slid down by the tub, seeing blackness spreading through your veins, under your skin. Your pallor was so pale it was almost grey, heart thudding in your ears and body so full of pain it drowned out every other thing. Griffon’s screeches faded into the distance as your eyes closed, breath coming in short gasps as you heard him yelling for V. But you couldn’t stop him.

This is the price you pay. With a reminder of pain.

All you felt was nothingness.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18136193/chapters/43068227

Tagged: @silentwhispofhope @just-call-me-no-name @slightlylunatic @nightshadow4713 @efiicitia

#devil may cry v #devil may cry #dmc v #dmc 5 #dmcv #V dmc #V #V x reader #v x self insert #Fanart #chapter 8 #ebony and ivory #ebony and ivory chapter 8

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saibalray · 5 years ago

Text

CINEMA (WORKING TITLE)

1. THE PHONE CALL

Ray had just woken up from the bed in the morning. He brushed up his teeth. Then he prepared a cup of tea at the kitchen of his Chandigarh apartment. Then he came to his room and opened the laptop. He was clueless about what to do since his 5th novel just got released. Now he was planning to work on his sixth one. He had the idea in his mind. It was slowly taking a shape for the last few days. However, he was listening to a soothing music, when a phone call from a lady came at around 7 o’clock.

- Hello.

- Yes. Who is this?

- Good Evening.

- Good Morning!

- I’m calling from California.

- Yes tell me.

- My name is Stella. Is this Ray?

- Yes.

- Okay. I have read your blog.

- (Excited) Okay, how was it?

- It’s great indeed!

- Thanks!

- Yes, now I have a proposal for you.

- And what is that?

- Can you write a cinematic novel out of your poems?

- (Excited) Yes I was exactly thinking about that!

- Yes, I know you can do it. I will fund this project.

- Some poems are in Bengali?

- I know I have read them too with the help of a translator.

- But I have a question.

- Okay.

- Why are you interested in this project?

- Because I am interested in male psychology.

- I am also interested in female psychology.

- So, are you gonna do it?

- Yes, of course. But I have another question.

- Yes tell me.

- Who will direct the movie?

- Of course you.

- Yes, I won’t give it to anybody.

- But on one condition.

- I hate conditions!

- Listen to me first.

- Okay, tell me.

- Yes, you won’t put name of any brand in your writing as you did in your previous novel.

- That’s exactly what I want now.

- Yes, it has to be pure.

- And I won’t give it to anybody to direct.

- I know. How could you? They are your people.

- Are you gonna come to India to meet me?

- Yes.

- When?

- I’ll tell you soon.

- Okay, I will wait for your call.

- Thanks, bye bye.

- Bye.

- Take care!

- You too!

This was great indeed. Ray felt excited. He was now waiting for the call and thinking about how to plot the story. He finished the cup of tea and phoned his parents in Kolkata as he does every morning.

2. THE IDEA

After a long time Ray browsed through his Bengali blog. He put most of his diaries on this blog. The poems, he used to write on these diaries, were actually mere documentation of his feelings. He wrote poems always as a method of catharsis since the day his father taught him how to write poems. He still remembered the incident of his first faulty rhyme. His father before going for shopping told him how to rhyme. He simply collected some lines from his text book that ends with the same sound and put it together one by one. When his father returned, he showed him that. His father told him that he had to devise his own lines. This was the beginning of the journey. He did not remember what his first poem was since he discarded many poems as he did not like it. But the first diary was still there. In the beginning he had a habit of writing anywhere. But then his father gave him a diary. That was his first diary. He was mostly driven by his father’s teachings and girl friends that aroused feelings in his heart. In the primary school he had a special relationship with a girl Nabanita. She left because of her father’s transferable job. However, that time the media was not so connected and his father did not allow him to get too much influenced by the television. So his relationship with Nabanita was pure and platonic. After primary school, as Nabanita left, he got closer to another beautiful girl Madhurima. She was his main inspiration behind the first diary. His family had a close relation with their family. She was pretty indeed. But he never told him that he wrote poems getting inspired by her since he was afraid of his father. However, this girl had a tendency to play with the mind of other boys. He even fled with a tall boy, and her family rejected him afterwards. But Ray’s father taught him literature. So his feelings were really restricted within poems. He cherished the beauty and kept on writing and fell in love with poems. That was the beginning and till now it was going on. But as Stella asked him he was really brainstorming how to put the poems in a cinematic way. Let’s try some tools of cinema. He thought of montage. But it was not suitable for a poetic treatment. Poems could not be treated as playback since it was unlike songs. Mise-en-scene was the only way to deal with poems. Since she told him for a poetic treatment, she thought when he would make the movie; he would do it like Tarkovsky. ‘But let’s first write the novel’ – he thought. He always wrote poems in rhyme except a few in prosaic styles. After a long time he found a way to start the novel. The senses of the Bengali poems would be translated in English. The rhyme form might have been lost. And then he would describe his fantasies around the poem that could be shot. That would be the best way to write this novel he thought. Next morning Stella phoned again.

- Hello, this is Stella here.

- Yes, yes I have saved your number.

- Okay. Did you find a way out?

- Yes, but it’ll take time since I have to translate the Bengali poems.

- Yes, that’s true.

- But only the senses will be translated since it’s very difficult to translate the rhyme as it is.

- Yes, I know. Every language has its own sound and that cannot be translated.

- Hmm.

- I have a surprise for you.

- I’ll transfer a decent amount as advance to your account.

- Okay.

- Tell me how you want to receive it.

- I’ll send you a link. Tell me the amount.

After that Stella told him about the amount and he sent a request online. And the amount got credited soon.

3. THE POEM ‘ARRIVAL’

The earth is dancing, the sky is dancing,

My heart is dancing.

I’m getting unstable by shaking it

With flower.

The river is babbling.

The butterfly is calling.

In the dawn to bathe

The holy girl is going.

The sky is very red.

The flower is getting relaxed.

The bees are drinking honey

Making their heart satiated.

Meanwhile the holidays

For one month is coming slowly.

On the raft the goddess

Is flying in slowly.

Relieving all the Goddess Madhurima

Is coming in.

Because of that I’m

So impatient.

4. THE FANTASY OF ‘ARRIVAL’

After writing this poem, he felt to fly with Madhurima across the sky. Then after coming down on the earth, he wanted to hug her. Then he wanted to go far away from the town. Then he wanted to touch her. After that he wanted to sleep with her in the catkin bush hiding from the nonsense of the crowd of the small town.

5. THE POEM ‘IN THE GREED OF PUJO’

The ‘Pujo’ is coming The catkins are dancing

Just look at that.

In the desire of honey The Shefali flowers

Falling on the ground.

The birds are flying The river is flowing

It’s the time of autumn fair.

You and me Are playing only

The game of stealing mind.

I caress the dream Inside my mind

They may not come true.

Amid the Pujo We will again build

The days of dreams.

6. THE FANTASY OF ‘IN THE GREED OF PUJO’

He wrote the poem before the famous festival of Bengal. Everybody buys new clothes during this time. The relatives gift new clothes this time. And the lovers dream to be together this time. So he wanted to travel from pandal to pandal with Madhurima. But that time the society was too conservative. Every decent couple was scared of the old people. So they could not be together during the Pujo. But they wanted to travel from pandal to pandal together.

7. THE SPLIT RHYMES OF NEW YEAR

7.1 Amid the falling leaves

The new sun is rising.

See in the whole world

The New Year is waking.

7.2. Wish in the New Year

All is well.

Let’s call the light

Of New Sun.

7.3 On the new day the new card

I am sending to you.

Wish the new love with the new

Become fulfilled.

7.4 Wish the dream of staying well

Be mixed up with you.

Wish our adda become

More happening in the form of new.

7.5 Wetting it in syrup of love

I give you the letter.

Let the attire of friendship be dazzled

In the new year.

7.6 Forgetting all, opening up the heart,

Knowing only the new,

I give you all my love

Only to you.

8. THE FANTASY OF THE NEW YEAR

It was new year. So the poems naturally celebrated the new and the new love. He wanted to refresh their love. He used to design greeting cards cutting the art paper and drawing cartoons on it. And then he used to gift to her and all his friends. So, he gifted a card to her expecting to refresh his hidden desire.

9. THE POEM ‘SILENT LOVE’

On that side blooming a white rose

A tree is giving its look.

On this side there is a bee hive

And the bees are singing with hazy tone.

When it’s dawn, the bees go to the tree

Dancing with the queen.

The mindboggling smell of flower –

The bell of heart starts ringing.

He wants to say something.

But he hides his face from the flower.

He goes time and again and comes back.

The mind is dreamful.

He thinks too far –

How to tell the flower what he thinks.

Probably the flower’s mind also swings

On the lap of bee’s imagination.

The tale of this intense love –

Who will tell by any chance?

Who will tell? Who will tell?

Who will tell unmindfully?

10. THE FANTASY OF ‘SILENT LOVE’

Actually this poem he wrote since he could not tell her that he was in love with her. So he used to go to her every day. He used to play with her. But he could never tell her that he was in love with her. She also did not know what love was actually. She enjoyed playing with her. But it was the innocence of puberty that attracted both of them towards each other. But they did not know what to say. They were crazy to be fused with each other. But they were scared and unmindful.

11. THE POEM ‘LET IT BE SALTY’

In the teen if the touch comes in,

The touch of falling in love and coming close,

‘I’ll sit by you, I’ll come close to you’- if the mind thinks,

They stick to each other, and they will not listen to anyone.

People say, ‘O my god, the brat is totally spoiled’.

The brat says, ‘Damn it! I have just started to taste it’.

The age says ‘Leave the lecture, this is our demand.’

‘Just fifteen – how can we forget the new fun?’

This is true, this is true – the glue of raw jackfruit!

Is it so easy to remove even if you make the dog lick?

The dog also follows rule, the tether is true.

But this brat continues to dance on the rope of love.

The green tamarind is so sour – you eat with salt.

So let it be a little more, even if it’s the raw age.

The raw age is very sour; so salt is inevitable.

Let the love be salty; what’s so harmful in it?

This love may not stay in the old age.

So the memory should stay there as the heart wants.

A little bit of sweet meat, who wants to eat?

Let the small memory be salty –only it will be tasty then.

12. THE FANTASY OF ‘LET IT BE SALTY’

This poem was written after he read a novel of Bankim, where the old writer was describing how it felt to cherish the memory of teenage love. He was totally influenced by that novel. His uncle gifted it to him. So he wrote this poem to forget the pain of not being able to disclose the love to her girl friend. He forgot the pain temporarily by reading Bankim.

13. THE POEM ‘LOVE BEGGAR’

All the secrets

I’ll pour off.

I’ll forsake the shame.

Pull me close

And give me love

Full of your heart.

I want love.

I want madness.

I am mad for you.

Give me love,

Only love.

You just give it to me.

Squeeze me with your

Naked hands and

Blood red lips.

Whatever I have

Snatch it all

And give me your love.

If I get love

I’ll go and

I’ll leave all.

I’ll go to the land of sun,

Where the dream oozes.

14. THE FANTASY OF ‘LOVE BEGGAR’

He was crazy for her girl friend. He wanted to leave home with her. He wanted to go to someplace else far away from the daily life. Dreams that defy the reality he wrote as this poem. He wanted to go to somewhere, where there will be no disturbance to dream big. But he never wanted to be alone. He wanted to explore dreams that were unreachable for the reality. He was impatient to get her girl friend. He was telling himself that he could do anything to get her as a life partner. But he was clueless under the blue sky like a beggar. He was begging for her love.

15. THE POEM ‘BUTTERFLY’

Butterfly The showy colours of your wings,

The style of yours on the flowers,

Are too sweet.

At your eyes I put my eyes

And there is the rain of

Happiness.

Butterfly Looking at you

I feel calm and

I keep on dreaming.

I lose my way suddenly,

The chariot of mirth full of

The smell of love

Flies in my heart.

Butterfly Your dazzling dance

And the makeup on the flower –

Make me hypnotized.

I see you and I think where

Is the key of your mind.

I feel like opening the lock.

Butterfly On your breast the music is dormant.

My heart floods with emotion -

The sight of your eyes.

When your heart dances

The new song of love

Gets created.

Butterfly On your wing the new song

Makes my heart filled

With the sweet smell of honey.

My mind wants you

Loving you all the time

In the rhyme of love.

Butterfly Your heart and my mind

Will stay together forever

Looking at the world.

Faraway there the sky floats on air

Starry eyes come to see.

Along with our heart.

16. THE FANTASY OF ‘BUTTERFLY’

Her nickname was butterfly. He used to call her with this name. He used to cherish looking at her. Every time he looked at her, his heart used to become full of emotions. He used to think of how to praise her. Thus he wrote this poem.

17. THE POEM ‘FIRST MEETING’

Going along without goal

Suddenly I saw on the way

Standing, who are you?

The moon like face of yours

From my heart everything

Just squeezes away.

The soft smile of your red lips –

The love flute plays in heart –

Please tell me who you are.

Who is this enchantress of the dreamland?

At the first glimpse,

She snatched my heart.

With soft eyes and polite smile

You looked at me with love.

-only seeing that

I am flooded with love tide.

So with stormy heart

I am looking for you.

18. THE FANTASY OF ‘FIRST MEETING’

It was a complete imagination. Though he met her before and played with her before and gossiped with her before, he dreamt of a dream date with her. And that reflects in the poem. It was a dream to meet her as for the first time.

19. THE POEM ‘THE FIRST’

The known eyes are lost.

Nobody knows where.

Yet, in the dream in every morning and evening

They call me.

At the warm red lips

And vibrating cheeks

The heart got stuck

Many days back.

In this life I can’t forget

The enchantress.

For her there’s this touch of love

And dreamful pain.

For her the dreamy seven hues

Fall on the heart

And makes it crazy, mad

And dizzy very often.

With the rhyme of honey

And sweet smell, she came close.

In the mind that comes

Every time with illusion.

I love that sweet smile

Till now during spare time.

All pain gets relieved because of

That memory.

Who will understand and who will make me understand why the mind is shaky.

The heart is still wet with

The juice of first love.

20. THE FANTASY OF ‘THE FIRST’

He was writing this poem in Kolkata sitting at a mess. By this time he joined a reputed college in Kolkata for higher studies. He left his home. But he would go frequently to his home town so that he could meet her again. This was starting of getting distant from her. Far away from home he missed her too much and always he would be eager to go back home just to see her. This first love would make her completely homesick.

21: THE POEM ‘DREAM’

You are the hope of weary mind;

Without you active eyes are blind.

You always smear pale faces with freshness;

You are the love of minds, vexed and hopeless.

You give both eyes a new happy sight,

You are the mirth and sorrow at midnight.

I feel crazy to cuddle you turning off lights;

I find lost songs in you every day and night.

Only you can allay my heart's agonies,

You are the elixir, I love you like a beast.

22. THE FANTASY OF ‘DREAM’

He felt lonely out there in the big city. He was uncertain about his future. So he was clueless about how go back to her girl friend. He was anxious about losing her any day. So he was trying to relax himself. On one hand there was his girl friend and on the other hand there was his dream. This was the time when these two emotions started clashing with each other. It was not about choosing one among them. It was about how to handle these two. So since he missed her and also he dreamt about her every day, he wrote this poem. This was very critical to understand this poem. Very precisely in her absence, he surrendered to his dream. It was like meditating in the crowded lonely city. When nothing was there, he had his dream.

23. THE POEM ‘I JUST LOVE YOU’

Amorous butterfly you have come

And stood before me.

Seeing you the harp of my heart

Is playing loudly.

Suave smile, white face

And bright eyes

Make me mad.

So sweet is your frown.

You are sweet, you are the creation.

Seeing you I feel happy.

I see you there and in dream.

I feel so happy.

So for words of your red lips

I come time and again.

Forgetting everything, opening heart

I just love you.

24. THE FANTASY OF ‘I JUST LOVE YOU’

He returned home in a vacation. Again he saw her out there. But he was afraid to approach her. The distance by now had grown more. She used to go by their house. She used sit on the culvert in front of her house. He used to sit with his friends. Everybody wanted to know his feelings. But the distance started to grow more. He understood that slowly she was going away from him. But she did not want it. He did not want it. But he could not tell it to her too because he had to score good in the examinations. And love was seen as a poison for concentration. But he could not tell anybody that he needed her to score good marks in the examinations. Since for more than seven years she inspired him to write poems and scoring good marks in the examinations. So her absence and his shy mind made everything impossible for him. He just could not reveal it to anybody.

25. THE PEOM ‘AT YOU’

I came to your heart

With a lot of hope,

As the Autumn clouds

Float on the sky.

To me your eyes

Are a wonder

You are more beautiful

Than the flower I guess.

I have travelled a lot.

I stopped at you.

Don’t refuse. Please call me

At you.

26. THE FANTASY OF ‘AT YOU’

This poem he wrote after returning from home having failed to tell her about his desire. So this was the beginning of his insecurity complex. The idea that his father would retire from job soon and he had to stand on his own feet made him totally insecure in the lonely city. Though his relatives were there in the city, he could not feel homely since they remained busy with their jobs. Only a retired maternal aunty used to call her at her place time and again. He used to argue about the world order with her husband. But whenever he met any new girl, he thought that he was not suitable for her for either she was too beautiful and had a great future or she was from a social background that could not be afforded by him.

27. THE POEM ‘TO YOU’

With a little make up and smile

You looked at me.

Seeing you for a moment

I look for your face

Here and there.

At your gestures and postures

I am mad and crazy.

So, I keep hope and

I scoot to you

Asking for your heart.

At your song and your ego

The dam of my mind gets broken.

Losing track in wild forest,

I scout for your eye balls

Madly.

The flower is your friend.

You are butterfly amazing.

Will you feel angry

If I look at you

A little bit more?

28. THE FANTASY OF ‘TO YOU’

Again he could not see her because of the distance. He wanted to see her face that used to relax her. But there was no other way out to go to her except during the vacation. Even the higher study made him too busy. He started watching movies in cheap theatres. He started visiting his relatives’. But nothing satisfied him. He used to pack his bag six months before any vacation. It was simply unimaginable for any practical human being. But he was that homesick. He was crazy for her. He was anxious for his career. His heart was pounding every second for her.

29. THE SPIT RHYMES

29.1 The boat of love swings slowly

On the blue sky.

My mind has been lost

To the butterfly.

29.2 The seven hues are calling

Tearing the breasts of blue.

Let my heart be lost

In the ocean of love.

29.3 I will come close, I will sit by you

And I will smile.

I have become too ardent

Loving you.

29.4 For whom I do so many things,

She does not care.

Others only show consolation

That’s not fare.

29.5 I see in wonder

How two of your eyes

Make me purblind.

29.6 The heart swings inside chest.

The emotion of love gets spilled

On the crazy mind.

Looking at you for a moment

The flute of mirth is playing

In silent heartshire.

29.7 They know we are uncontrollable

We are dangerous.

The great lord got vanished

Because of us.

29.8 Two of our tiny hearts

Might be too close.

Yet, there must be a distance of

Rustic tune.

29.9 My dreams float like a cloud

Inside your eyes.

They smile with the tune of love.

The ignorant mind gets lost

Loving you forever.

29.10 The shadow of mirth, the warm illusion

And the colours dreamful

Hit my heart and makes

My heart crazy.

29.11 Time and again, round and round

The illusion of memory

Fill my heart and makes me

Forget all the give-and-takes.

30. THE FANTASY OF ‘SPLIT RHYMES’

This was written again, when he returned home for a vacation in 2003, which means he was in the final year of his Physics Honours course. He saw her again but from a distance. He was now clueless about what to do. So he was writing split rhymes to create an illusion of happiness within himself. At the same time he did not believe in god since first he was a student of Physics and second his father told him there would be no god to save you when you grew old. So it was better to work hard for a safe future. This is the beginning of the illusions that he would keep on creating from now onwards – a futile effort to keep the happiness intact inside by means of illusions that would keep on breaking and getting built up inside the mind time and again.

31. THE POEM ‘EAGER’

In the limit of limitless sky

On the thinking boat of love ocean

Floating with the crazy mind

Let my heart find the love.

Let my heart float away

Anywhere today.

Crazy in happiness,

Warm touch and warm stream,

The cold body is all screwed

After the hug.

Let my heart float away

Anywhere today.

Leaving all the shyness,

Shaking the shape of body,

Let the moony night

Find the warmth again.

Let my heart float away

Anywhere today.

Let it go to hell today.

Let it be lost with a love-tune.

At the limitless horizon

There’s the call of seven notes.

Let my heart float away

Anywhere today.

32. THE FANTASY OF ‘EAGER’

This was a flash back poem, written in 2002. But he posted it on the blog after the ‘Split Rhymes’ that were written in 2003. Now he wanted to have sex with her at night, especially a moony night. He wanted to hug her and feel the fragrance of her body. This was the result of his desire to get fused with her at a moon lit night. This was the manifestation of his pure sexual desire that he would hide from the society. So, yes, the fantasy of the poem was certainly having a holy alfresco sex with her under the moon. He would write this kind of poems time and again whenever he felt the urge.

31. THE POEM ‘ONLY YOU’

Let the night come, if it really wants to fall.

The smile of your red lips will flash in moon light.

The bright eyes are as if the flame of revolution.

Looking at those I’ll tell the words of my heart.

You are there at every nook and corner of my heart.

I just think when I’ll be able to reach your heart.

I beg of you to give me a place at your heart.

Take my love filling your heart fully.

Today a pair of lips told you the words of my heart.

Are your red lips gonna tell everything is futile?

If it happens so, just know that I’m gonna die!

I could not win your heart – that’s the defeat.

32. FANTASY OF ‘ONLY YOU’

This poem was suicidal. He was getting scared sitting far away from home that he would certainly lose her. So he was declaring his defeat.Nothing was more important to him now than her. He was giving a hint of committing suicide. But nobody read the poem. It should have been read by her. But that was not possible. So he was rolling the life with dwindling hope and amplified doubt. This would make him skeptical about the intentions of girls. This would result misunderstanding the girls soon. By this time he was studying in a boys’ college. But he was extremely introvert especially about her hidden desire towards girls. He would discuss about world order loudly with his peers. But he would not share his fantasy for girls with anybody. It would reflect only in his poems that nobody till then read.

33. THE POEM ‘I’VE LOVED’

I’ve loved you my dear.

I’ve loved you.

You’ve played me. So

I’ve loved you.

You’ve got the crazy fragrance

Of my disheveled hair.

You’ve slipped upon my

Suave beauty and

Thus you’ve aerated my heart.

You’ve seen my beauty.

You’ve got my soft touch.

With all the madness

Your heart got the mirth.

Whatever I have,

I’ve given you all.

You’ve played me. So

I’ve loved you.

34. THE FANTASY OF ‘I’VE LOVED’

This was an important poem. In his childhood his father made him a member of the local library, where he got introduced to some women writers. He read about feminism. He read about women by women. Now he was recalling them. The colourful teenage made him quite mature about women at a very early stage of life. So he could not be a feminist since he had experienced close contact with girls including his girlfriend before. Except Madhurima he had some other girls as his friends. However, now sitting far away from home, he was trying to understand what Madhurima could feel about him. Thus the poem got created. He wrote on behalf of her. He tried to imagine her feelings. He tried to put himself in her shoe psychologically.

35. THE POEM ‘LOVE MEANS…’

Can "You-are-mine-and-I-am-yours"

Strengthen the love-bond?

Love means all are close

You and I are vagabonds.

36. THE FANTASY OF ‘LOVE MEANS …’

In heart he felt like a vagabond or mendicant. He wanted to travel to unknown lands with her girl friend and meet new people. This is the imagination. But in reality he was travelling alone - sometimes with his friends, sometimes with his relatives, sometimes with his parents; but never with his girl friend -thus the poem.

37. THE POEM ‘THE SPARROW’

A sparrow has just learnt to fly.

She starts her new life by throwing

The chirp of freedom to the blue sky.

One day she goes out to make a new nest.

In the dusk, she gets a shelter inside a hole

Of a big tree bent over a small pond.

When the sky shows its reddish dawn-soul,

She wakes the tree up.

A tiny shiny fish moves up and down there

In the water of the pond; the tree sees and smiles.

As the sparrow joins, today they feel happier.

At the arrival of a new friend they become cheerful.

All are excited and joyful.

The time becomes ruthless suddenly.

The tree that gives flowers and fruits all the time

Is relieved of life untimely.

The pond is filled by soil in no time.

Alas! Where is the tree and where is the fish?

All is buried now in the darkness of time.

The helpless sparrow starts her journey again.

Now she comes to a nearby city. There

In a huge palace inside a small hole

She builds her nest; she cannot get her share

Of left-over food there any more since

The number of beggars keeps increasing.

She cannot tolerate the pain of life there.

She starts flying madly to find a shelter.

She gets irritated by the shrill sound and smoke

Of factories and cars.

At last she gets a permanent shelter.

While flying through the city, she gets hit by a bus.

She sleeps forever on the dust.

She gets fused with this huge earth.

38. THE FANTASY OF ‘THE SPARROW’

By this time he wrote quite a number of poems and read more than that. This poem was a result of his reading poems vividly and the benevolence taught by his father. This had nothing to do with his girl friend. It was a poem that he wrote to practice his writing skill. And this was probably the first poem that he wrote in a prosaic style. That’s it.

39. THE POEM ‘NEW YEAR FROM FAR AWAY’

Remember our tales.

Remember our pains.

Many words of heart and mind

Of the lost hundred days,

In the ray of New Year,

Let’s celebrate again.

With all these now we will talk

Through letters.

40. THE FANTASY OF ‘NEW YEAR FROM FAR AWAY’

This is a poem for Easa, another girl, who was his classmate and now she was staying in Odisha for higher study. They used to send letters to each other. She was a good student. So, he wrote this poem for her.

41. THE POEM ‘GO THE WAY YOU SHOULD’

The eastern sky is calling now.

Keep walking my friends.

Rain or storm,Happy or sad,

The morn or eve -whatever it is -

Let’s go ahead my friends.

Don’t look back even for once.

See the tinge of red.

The scarlet sky is calling you.

The horizon is radiant.

Look ahead my friends.

Even if you find no one now,

Go alone my friend.

In severe pain, with eyes aflame,

Just don’t be upset.

Let’s go ahead my friends.

All the words that are unsaid

Speak out my friends.

All the slogans that ring inside-

Now and then-

Shout out my friends.

Let the hindrance come closer.

Why to be so afraid?

The sound of conch is out there

Amidst the shocking deaths.

Cross each turn with your head

Held high my friends.

42. FANTASY OF ‘GO THE WAY YOU SHOULD’

He was now writing letters to Easa regularly. But he was not in love with her. She was a good friend from his home town. Opposites always attract. So it was kind of that – a good friend of opposite sex. By her letters he was trying to reduce the inner pain that he could not share with anyone. He was fed up with Madhurima since he felt ‘enough is enough’ kind of emotion inside. He was unable to bear the pain anymore. He would feel this emotion afterwards also and this emotion would produce some of the poems later. So he wanted to cheer up himself by writing this poem.

43. THE POEM ‘GO AHEAD’

Losing way in dense forest

Looking at bereft heart

The mind gets burnt.

Leaving the nostalgia

Go ahead towards the light.

The address will be found.

You are not the only one, who lost the way.

There are many talents like you –

You’ll find there ahead.

Let the mountains and rivers come.

Keep going my friend.

The dream will be found.

Don’t be afraid of the unknown.

Keep no hesitation

While going ahead.

On the way in the mud

If you fall and get stuck,

Call the unknown.

Forgetting all the pain

With the light of free mind

Go ahead all of you.

Leaving the nostalgia

Go ahead towards the light.

The address will be found.

44. FANTASY OF ‘GO AHEAD’

He wrote this poem, when he dreamt big. He wanted to face the unknown people and unknown places. That was his father’s lesson. His father told him to prepare for struggle. His father told him that life is a struggle. If he does not study well, he won’t be able to travel places. So listening to his father’s words, he wrote this poem. All you needed a pen and paper to dream big. So this poem was a dream that he saw from his study through the window towards the culvert where the pretty girl used to come and sit.

45. THE PHONE CALL

After a few days when he was feeling tired of writing, Stella phoned him in a morning. She said,

- Good evening!

- Good Morning!

- How do you do?

- I’m fine, just a bit tired of writing.

- I know that’s quite natural.

- Yes.

- Can you do one thing?

- What?

- Mail me whatever you have written so far.

- Okay.

- Actually I am really eager to see what you have done. It must be interesting.

- I don’t know.

- Okay fine. Just send me the write-up and take rest for some days. I’ll text you my email id.

- Okay.

- Take care. Bye bye.

- You too. Bye.

After a few seconds of the conversation, Stella texted her email id. And he forwarded a soft copy to her. Then he phoned his parents since it was the time of pandemic and lockdown. Then he prepared his breakfast and had coffee with it. He did some office works from home. In the evening he went for a stroll in the park. He phoned his friends. Then at night he slept after talking to his parents over phone. Next morning Stella phoned him again,

- Good evening.

- Good Morning.

- I read your draft.

- Really!

- Yes.

- How is it?

- Pretty unique and unconventional.

- Thanks!

- But you skipped some poems written in 2001 I guess.

- Yes, it’s not complete yet. Some of the poems have similar fantasies…

- No no! I want to know all the fantasies. Don’t skip any single poem.

- Okay, I’ll do something about it.

- Yes please. Did you have your breakfast?

- No.

- What are you gonna have?

- Butter toasts, coffee, orange and banana.

- You should take eggs also.

- Yes usually I take that. But I am scared for the situation of lockdown. So we have become a little bit of economical now.

- Okay.

- Who were there in your family?

- My parents and my sister.

- Did she get married?

- Yes.

- Okay. Where do they stay?

- They stay in Kolkata. I mean Calcutta according to British pronunciation.

- Yes, I know. And where do you stay?

- I stay in Chandigarh.

- Okay. That’s nice.

- Won’t you ask how big the apartment is or what is the cost of bearing me as a producer?

- (Smile) No, I am not that kind of a lady! My purpose of asking you these questions was just to make you feel relaxed. I know what you deserve. These queries have nothing to do with our deal.

- Okay.

- Now listen to me carefully.

- Okay.

- You keep writing. After the lockdown my manager will come to India to sign a contract with you.

- Yes that’s better since I do a job.

- Yes and if you need more money, just write to me.

- I don’t write for money.

- I know dear. But money is necessary. Keep it up. Goodbye!

- Goodbye.

She cut the phone. He went to prepare breakfast. But his brain became active again. He was thinking about how to incorporate the skipped poems in the draft.

- ary. Keep it up. Goodbye!

- Goodbye.

She cut the phone. He went to prepare breakfast. But his brain became active again. He was thinking about how to incorporate the skipped poems in the draft.

46. DOWN THE MEMORY LANE

Summer was knocking at the door. Here in Chandigarh the summer is always horrible. It reaches at least 46 degree Celsius every year. It makes everyone suffer a lot every year. However, till now the weather was okay. So he was scared about the summer. Yet, he woke up in the morning. The sun ray was coming through his window. It was no longer pleasant and it had started to show its might slowly. So far the sun was enjoyable. He used to slide the curtain to open his window every morning. But he could not do it anymore. Now it had started to become hotter. This year he would definitely buy an air conditioner. But he had a doubt about what would happen post lockdown. He might get a better job with a better package. In that case all these gadgets like washing machine, geyser, air conditioner, television would be a burden. So till now he was living with minimum gadgets. However, the warm sun was rising behind the buildings hinting a dry followed by a sultry summer. And he was having a cup of tea. After writing a chapter he would prepare his breakfast. After spending a whole day for thinking about an idea about how to include the previous poems he could not get anything new. So he decided to stick to the grammar of cinema. A cut away would be a nice choice he thought. ‘So let’s cut away down the memory lane’, he thought. The name of the next poem was ‘During the Pujo’. Pujo was a huge festival in Bengal. And everyone liked this festival. So he would also enjoy the festival. Every year during this time he would get excited to mingle with people and have fun. Everybody did that. Precisely no body participated in this festival as a religious being. He participated in all the festivals like Pujo, Eid, Muharram, Christmas etc. But he never followed any rituals but eating since he was not encouraged by his father to do so. His father never told him not to go to the festivals. But he said that every progressive idea helped toward a better world. So he was too innocent to understand the propaganda behind these festivals. Now he knew it while writing this draft. He would translate the poems related to festivals. But it had nothing to do with religions, especially the organised propagandist divisive ones. He was taught to celebrate festivals but not the rituals that would culminate to division of humanity and civil war. That’s never accepted. Now he felt that all festivals could be there without the propaganda behind it. That had to be removed at any cost. He liked humanity, festivals, celebrations, parties. He would go to anywhere to attend any festivals. But he would not follow the rituals that were connected to propaganda and controlled by a particular religion. In fact he felt that people should have worked together to remove the religions from the festivals. Then everything would have been alright.

47. THE POEM ‘DURING THE PUJO’

I will be here during this festival.

I will be nearby.

I will see how much you can dress up.

I will see how much you can smile.

I will see who looks better -

The goddess or you.

May be I said something too much.

Forgive me, forgive me dear!

If you cannot do it,

You rather be angry.

I will see you from a distance.

I will see how you look.

The light of moon beam on pink face –

That’s also not so bad.

48. FANTASY OF ‘DURING THE PUJO’

He was studying in a high school and the festival was coming. He was excited to see his girl friend in new attire. He wanted to see her from a distance since he could not propose her till now. He was afraid of her. He always thought what would be her reaction – positive or negative – in case he proposed her. He was not prepared to take no for an answer. And he was scared of his father. So he always thought twice before committing any nuisance. So he wrote this poem as if he was prodding her with words on the culvert where they met almost every day.

49. THE POEM ‘TOMORROW’

Through every vein of mine

Sending the warm flowing addiction,

You are living happily.

You thought I’d get addicted

And stay dizzy as always.

Probably I am like that today.

But did you think that forever

I’d stay like this?

You did a blunder if you had thought so.

The poison that you injected into me

Is eating up me now slowly.

It has burnt and provoked me

Like an angry tigress.

Today I am excited.

I am clad with the fire of revenge.

You thought you would sleep quiet

In the light of falling afternoon.

And you would stay happily.

I’ll not allow that.

In the high summer

On the dry desert

On the great pyre

Slowly I’ll burn you

Bit by bit.

With poison I’ll burn your body.

Then I’ll throw your body

On the burning chest of hot sun.

The hunger of the history

Will be satiated then.

50. FANTASY OF ‘TOMORROW’

This poem was the result of many things. He was studying in class eleven. In the morning with his father he used to hear German Bengali, Chinese Bengali and British Bengali radio news. And he used to discuss those with his father and friends. Then he used to play with his girl friend. Since then he was worried about the downtrodden people of the world. By this time he read Hegel, Feuerbach, and thus Marx. He read an English version of Das Kapital. As a result he conceived of the future world. This poem was about a revenge that symbolised a world after revolution or any other radical change.

51. THE POEM ‘FOR LOOKING AT HER AT ONCE THE FIRE OF LOVE’S BEEN KINDLED AT THE HEART’

Why did you look at me

That way for a moment?

Crazy is my heart dear

And I’ve become mad for you.

I’m mad, I’m eager.

The heart is having a storm.

Where’ve you been lost dear?

Take me back at your heart

I can’t bear it anymore.

For the soft touch of your eyes

I’ve lost my whole memory

But your presence there.

With the touch of your red lips

At your soft naked eyes

I’ve surrendered my heart.

I’ve surrendered to you.

I’m mad for you.

So I rush to you.

Just sit by me and I’ll tell

That I love you.

52. FANTASY OF ‘FOR LOOKING AT HER AT ONCE THE FIRE OF LOVE’S BEEN KINDLED AT THE HEART’

This was again the desire to be closer to her. He was looking at her every day. Now he wanted to kiss her openly at the place where they used to meet every day. Closer and closer he wanted to come. But it was not possible at a conservative society for a young boy of reputation. On one hand the desire, on another hand the society. Kissing openly in public was considered vulgar in India. But that was exactly what he wanted to do. Just a kiss under the afternoon sun and everything would have been solved.

53. THE POEM ‘OUR TALE’

The conspiracy of pain -

All the consolations are false.

We’ve heard enough theory

About life.

We’ve seen a lot of pain.

We’ve seen people dying.

They’re fighting against hunger.

Yet, the heart is full of hope.

So many scars at the heart

We’ve kept intact like gun powder;

When it is kindled,

The horizon will be burnt.

But the sun will rise again.

Don’t give up my friend!

Hold the tether tight.

The sun is hot and blooming.

53. FANTASY OF ‘OUR TALE’

This was the real story of them, which means the boy friends. They did not like to study. They did not want to hear any sophisticated theory about life. They were hopeless. They were impulse driven. They wanted ready-made solution about their future and career. So they were giving a damn to the establishment. They were watching pornography. They were shouting aloud at the adda. They were dismissing all the theories. They had become complete cynics. But he ended the poem with a hope as he always did. Again he even did not show this poem to his friends. He was so possessive about his poems. At that age he did not know the reason. Now he realised that he was introvert about his poems since the origin of it was mainly his girl friend. He grabbed his poems so tight as if they were his girl friend.

54. THE POEM ‘THE RACE OF BRAWLERS’

A shabby cottage with thousands of holes on the roof,

Everything inside is visible with a little effort,

It’s more if it’s called a house, it’s even more, if it’s called a cottage –

Just like a house of cards or a brittle bottle.

It’s monsoon. So it’s going to fall soon.

After that there will only be sky over the head.

No income - without food they spend the days.

They have nothing, but the naked child has clay at least.

With the clay he builds up mountains and cuts the river before

Along with the memory of grass flower that he saw somewhere

In the imagination his tiny mountain is much bigger.

Beneath the mountain there are many boulders.

His mother sat to cut the stones on the lap of barren mountain.

He is playing with the thin grasses with full concentration.

He is smiling at her mother. The mother is smiling at him.

Suddenly someone cries aloud, and the smile is gone.

The mother’s eyes are wet and blood trickles from her hand.

The little child without getting it starts to cry aloud.

Unmindfully her hand got thrashed by the hammer.

The fancy traveller gets irritated and calls her the race of brawlers.

55. FANTASY OF ‘THE RACE OF BRAWLERS’

This was poem completely driven by his altruist philosophy. By reading philanthropic philosophies he discovered his hidden sympathy for the downtrodden class. And he used to visit mountainous Bhutan often for picnic or travelling. There he saw these workers cutting the rocks. So he fantasised this poem.

56. THE POEM ‘LOVE’

Catkins get a swing.

The flower Shefali wakes.

Unknown jungle birds

Are chirping here and there.

The Sun uncle opens the eyes.

The tiny grass flower gets a swing.

On your pink face the soft sun –

The heart flies here and there.

On the sweet day with the happy song

Let the door of my heart open.

From my tiny heart

I give you a gift.

57. FANTASY OF ‘LOVE’

He wanted to gift her something. But his father was strict about money and flexible about creativity. So he did not have money to purchase a gift for her. He was also feeling shy to tell her about love. So with all these emotions, he wrote this poem for her. All he could give was love and poems. He did not tell her about the poem again. But he wanted to go to her and gift something really rare. But he was not sure whether the poem was rare or cheap.

58. THE POEM ‘LOVE YOU’

For you

I’m mad.

So, I’m looking for you.

With care

I’ve put you there

Inside my heart.

Dishevelled appearance –

In the juice of youth

You are wet dear.

If I get you

I’ll give up

All the shame I have.

When I’ll meet

You there

At the love night,

You will see

How happy

It’ll be.

I’ll sit by you

I’ll come to you.

Love flute will play.

Touching your heart

My love

I’ll tell you

I love you.

59. FANTASY OF ‘LOVE YOU’

He wanted to meet her at a special night without being ashamed. It means he wanted to be free with her. He wanted to meet her in a quiet night with a special ambience. And yes there was a hint of sex. But it was not only sex but also the ambience.

60. THE POEM ‘LOVING YOU’

Loving the mankind

I’ve known the earth.

Loving the blood

I’ve known the struggle.

Loving the sweat

I’ve known the sorrow.

Loving you

I’ve known myself.

61. FANTASY OF ‘LOVING YOU’

This was a philosophical poem. He wanted to say if she was not there he could not explore his inner soul. If she was not there he could not experience the emotions that were hidden inside him. The mankind, the earth, the blood, the struggle, the sweat and the sorrow could be experienced everywhere. But knowing the ego was not so easy. Because of her he could discover his ego. And with that ego he would travel different places keeping her memory within.

62. THE POEM ‘THE OLD’

That playground of run-from-circle and the rows of mango trees

Have got lost one by one and filled with the concrete jungle.

So many known faces and lines of known smiles Have got lost and I’m alone there from horizon to horizon.

The close friends got lost and the far got closer.

Quarrelling with the far, I’ve gone to new land.

Wherever I’ve gone to get happiness of mind,

I’ve got shocked seeing thousands of hungry stomachs.

Walking a long distance, I’ve stopped by you.

But still I doubt whether Madhurima is there on my way.

63. FANTASY OF ‘THE OLD’

This was a very interesting poem. Till now he had not left home town. But he was always interested in reading books outside the syllabus. So slowly he developed a philosopher inside him. That philosopher was writing this poem. This was a prediction made by the philosopher within with a slight hint of skepticism. He was being a realist that when he would leave home, he was going to encounter a reality that was not going to be all sweet at all. So he was ending the poem with his girl friend’s name that symbolises his skeptisism about achieving her. He was not so sure about his future be it the marriage nor be it the career. From this poem onwards his subconscious would be dictated by his wisdom that he achieved by reading and hearing and the reality that he would experience every day.

64. THE POEM ‘THE SOUND OF THUNDER’

The thunder roars and I hear it with my ears

The thunder pen cuts the lines

On the chest of sky. The scared people

Shut the door.

The suave moon’s and The free night’s

Heart losing light

Gets destroyed In a moment

By the raging storm.

In the stormy wind The traveller in the end

Loses his path.

One step ahead Two steps back

The lightning in the dark.

On the river water There will be soon

The raging waves.

On the sky With dishevelled hair

Which beautiful lady shows it wrong!

By the angry look of the disheveled hair.

The heart is pounding hard.

When you will look On the opposite side

Of the dark hair.

You will know that You love only this

Lady.

65. FANTASY OF ‘THE SOUND OF THUNDER’

This was a poem about a rainy night influenced by his girl friend. He was sitting in his study. It was load-shedding. So there was no light. Only a hurricane light was lit. The sky was clad with dark clouds. Lightning was happening. And thus he compared the nature around with her girl friend.

66. THE POEM ‘SEEING AT ONCE’

The red long scarf is flying in the air

With the red rose.

Into the shy eyes of the princess

The heart’s got stuck.

The beggar eyes do not shift

From the immaculate beauty.

Seeing her at once

The heart is filled with mirth.

On her shiny moony face

The sap of beauty falls.

I wish I look at her

For a thousand years.

67. FANTASY OF ‘SEEING AT ONCE’

This poem is again out of the eagerness of seeing her. He missed her. He was preparing for his final board examination. After the examination, he would prepare for higher study. And after getting the result, he would go to Kolkata. And the fear of distance and the desire of seeing her continuously produced this poem.

68. THE POEM ‘THE LOST YOUTH’

In the new fun of new monsoon,

In the new dawn with the smell of shefali,

In the new hue of the new sun,

In the colour of rose petals and

In the happy nature’s craziness,

I’ve seen you with my full heart.

On the tribal girl’s limbs and body,

With flowery ornaments,

In the suave manifestation of moon beam and

In the cool wind of dense forest

I’ve seen you with my full heart.

Keeping the eye on that of a doe,

At the shy golden face,

When the deer looks with

Full concentration,

In the flood of its hearty passion

I’ve seen you with my full heart.

Beneath the starry sky,

Sitting with you in privacy,

With the touch of your uncrowded hand,

I’ve forgotten everything.

Even then I’ve seen you in the

Suave manifestation of moon beam.

Today I don’t see you anywhere,

Afraid and scared, have you left

This earth dear? Probably

On the chest of a faraway star

Immobile is your sight.

That’s why I no longer forget everything.

That’s why the immobile sight of yours from

A faraway star makes me think

Time and again.

69. FANTASY OF ‘THE LOST YOUTH’

A very close uncle of the colony gifted him a book of Jibanananda, a famous poet of Bengal, on his birthday. His poems were ornamental with details. He started reading those poems. That was his first introduction with this Master post-Tagore poet. So in his heart he was always scared of losing her girl friend one fine morning. This emotion got fused with the style of Jibanananda. But he was also aware of the fact that he did not even know the details of Bengal as this Master poet did. So his inferiority complex grew inside and he did not show it to anybody since he felt it was not as great as the Master poet’s creations.

70. THE POEM ‘WISH’

Wish

With the force of a kick,

Tearing all the tethers,

In the land of hues,

With a crazy mind,

Through the dust,

Flying and flying,

Losing way and finding way,

With the smell

Along the heart,

Wish with you

I get lost in

The land of love.

71. FANTASY OF ‘WISH’

He wanted to experiment with the poetic styles now. He thought of a poem that was a one liner. He was still preparing for his final board examination and he was experiencing the burden of study. So he wanted to run away with his girl friend. This emotion and the pressure of study produced this experimental poem.

72. THE POEM ‘YOUTH’

A little joy, a little pain,

A few coloured words,

Joy, sorrow, weep, smile –

With all these we love.

Hard again simple and easy,

Sweet, salty, a bit poison,

A bit white, a bit black,

Dirty, grey or good,

Amid all there’s the light of hope.

We are bad, we are good.

73. FANTASY OF ‘YOUTH’

This was again a poem about his friends collectively. He was young and his friends were also young. His girl friend was young too. And he loved all of them. So he was writing a poem about their youth that was going through different experiences and incidents in their lives. It was colourful indeed!

74. THE POEM ‘WHO KNOWS WHAT HAPPENED’

Today the moon looks good.

The grass flower calls me closer.

Hearing the chirps of jungle bird,

My heart becomes jolly.

Who knows what happened!

Joy pours into my heart.

Amid the joy with the love song

The heart plays the rustic tune.

In the forest’s creepers and trees’ leaves

It wakes up with the chirps of birds.

In soft sun on the love ocean

My heart gets lost.

Wish I exceed everything

Destroying everything -

Breaking the shackle

Wish I get lost in the mirth.

Across the sky and air

The fragrance of love makes it crazy.

Wherever I look it’s all joy.

I’m mad for you.

Under the moon beam in the suave evening

Amid this limitless joy

Everything looks good.

Who knows what happened today!

75. FANTASY OF ‘WHO KNOWS WHAT HAPPENED’

This was a simple poem about happiness. It happened often when he got excited about the nature, peers and girlfriend. And when he felt less pressure he used to feel like this. In fact the time of the poem was very important. It was a flashback poem written in 2000 a year before the previous poems. The date was important since in 2000 he was in class eleven. So the pressure of study was less as the board examination would happen in 2001. So this year was the playtime for him. He was enjoying everything around. A little bit of study, a little bit of football, and a little bit of meaningless gossiping with girl friend – and everything became wonderful.

76. THE POEM ‘RUSTIC LOVE’

Every morning a boy and a girl

Used to make mountains and play together.

The boy used to draw with fingers on the earth.

The girl used to say, ‘I don’t understand what you do!’

The boy used to say, ‘There’s no meaning I just love to draw!

Please bring the water and let’s build a fancy hill again.’

When the girl used to make garland of shefali,

The boy inserted one of them into her hair.

The girl used to rush to her mother to show it.

The mother used say, ‘You are looking really nice today!’

Then and there she used to run to the boy and say

‘Please insert another into my hair.’

Her hand was clayed and the heart was full of fragrance of flower!

This way they love each other.

If you wish to call it love, call it so or not.

The simple clay hill was much bigger in the imagination.

The barren mountain was green in the imagination.

There was a narrow stream, where pearls were flowing.

How did it matter that the stream was small and narrow?

It made the unwilling boulders move.

This way when the girl used to think sitting there,

The boy used to ask, ‘Please tell me what you were thinking so tight.’

The girl used to say, ‘There’s no meaning I just love to imagine.

Let’s bring the water and build a new mountain again.’

New mountain, new soil, new imagination –

This way they love each other.

77. FANTACY OF ‘RUSTIC LOVE’

His home town was surrounded by villages and rustic lives. If the sky was clear the third highest peak Kanchanjangha was easily visible from the north end of the town. Now he was reading literature vividly. He was playing with his girlfriend and thus he had his imagination. So, he imagined a rustic love and put it in words.

78. THE POEM ‘SWEET SMILE’

How sweetly you smiled

Looking at me –

I felt relaxed O my

Darling of dreamland.

Into my mind you have

Inserted the touch of beauty.

Over the suave soft smile

The heart is flying.

Looking at the red smile

Of moony face,

My whole day got spent

Thinking about you.

Floating with your

Blood smeared wet lips,

I don’t know when

I fell in love with you.

79. FANTASY OF ‘SWEET SMILE’

He was seeing her girlfriend almost every day. He loves to look at her. They talk about many things –sense and nonsense. This poem revealed his desire to see her smile time and again. He used to imagine her face at night before going to sleep. Her face was a remedy for his concentration. Thus he had a fetish for her smile. Her face and her smile used to increase his attentiveness.

80. THE POEM ‘HAPPY NEW YEAR’

New year, new light, new new hopes,

Split smiles, split words, split love.

In the fragrance of new flower the heart is unmindful.

For the new fun of new year the courtyard of heart floats across.

When the butterfly asks the flower, ‘Could you give me a little bit of honey?’

The flower says, ‘You can take as much as you want.

Let the New Year be happy. Then I’ll be happy too.’

The mankind appears to be really trivial then.

Did they ever have such a big heart?

In the New Year you and I put on new dresses.

Where is the New Year of the beggar kept?

You and I have a new year and thus the new hope.

Did he have no hope except frustration?

We do have fun, but please look after them too.

The downtrodden class needs a bit of help too.

Only then the New Year with the new hope

Will travel along happy tear of our heart.

81. FANTASY OF ‘HAPPY NEW YEAR’

It was said before that he started reading philanthropic philosophies at a much younger age. And he had the charm of her girlfriend that influenced her to write so many poems. This was the last poem of his ‘First Diary’ according to the blog. There were many other lost poems that he could not upload in the blog or discarded. But this poem was produced by the mixture of philanthropic philosophy and the charisma of her girlfriend. So his soul had now been taken over by philosophies along with the presence of his girlfriend.

82. THE MAIL

Now he felt a bit relaxed since he finished working across the poems of his ‘First Diary’. Now it was time to inform Stella about the progress. He also needed a bit rest. He had a small blister at his ankle. He had not been wearing shoes since the lockdown begun. But he started evening walk at the park. Summer was coming soon. Amid all these he wrote a mail to Stella,

“Dear Stella

I have finished working on the poems of my ‘First Diary’. Please have a look at the attached file and reply soon.

Thanking you

Ray”

Thus he attached the draft with the mail and clicked on the send button and sent it to her email address. Then he got up from the chair. He went to the bathroom and took a bath for at least half an hour. Then he had lunch and lay on the bed. He could not usually sleep during the day time. He also had problems regarding sleep at night. Slowly he was getting rid of insomnia. These days he was sleeping well at night with a light dose of sleeping pills. He was feeling better now since he finished at least a chapter of the draft. So he was happy. But he did not know what to do. He knew Stella would call back after reading the draft. So he was waiting for her call.

83. THE GREY DIARY

He was now waking up late. In the evening he was strolling in the park. He was doing a bit of office work. This way a few days passed. He was now browsing through his blog. He was studying a bit for a distant learning course that he was doing from a university of Hisar. But he was not being able to concentrate properly. He was a very bad multi-tasker. Slowly he was learning multi-tasking these days. At last Stella phoned him,

- Good Evening.

- Good Morning.

- How do you do?

- Fine. I was waiting for your call.

- I know.

- Have you read it?

- Yes.

- What do you think about it?

- I loved it. But I have a few questions.

- Yes tell me.

- What do you mean by ‘cut away’?

- It’s nothing but inserting something from a different time and place within the narrative.

- Okay. It’s complicated. I know only about cutaway collars (smile).

- What’s that?

- It’s the collar of a formal shirt.

- Okay. That’s interesting.

- Yes. I think I have understood the ‘flashback’ only.

- Yes, it’s like going back to past.

- Yes.

- Did you enjoy reading the draft?

- Yes, absolutely.

- That’s enough for now.

- Okay. Are you tired of writing?

- Yes a bit.

- Take rest then.

- I was thinking about my ‘Grey Diary’ now.

- The second diary?

- Yes.

- Okay. Keep thinking.

- I am facing a problem.

- What’s that?

- I have categorised some of the poems from my diaries in different sections while uploading on my blog.

- Don’t worry; I have gone through your blog. Stick to it and use the cinematic tools as you did before. I love your blog.

- Thanks.

- What’s the situation in India now?

- Pretty bad. Lockdown till 3rd May.

- Okay. Do you have a printer?

- I have it in Kolkata. But not here.

- Okay. Don’t worry. We’ll sign the contract soon.

- Okay.

- Do you need more money?

- No. But I don’t know the exact market value of my work.

- Leave it to me. I know it and I won’t cheat you.

- Okay. Thanks.

- And I think you know that market economy is crashing everywhere.

- Yes I wrote it in my last book.

- Exactly.

- So everything will be redesigned now.

- Yes, true.

- So don’t worry about the economy. Take rest, think and when you feel like writing, do it.

- Okay.

- Just stick to your blog. And tell me if you need more money.

- Okay. I have another question.

- Tell me.

- As a reader are you feeling bored of the format?

- As in?

- Like ‘the poem and the fantasy’ format. Is it not getting repetitive?

- Absolutely not.

- As a young woman, I am really interested in the fantasy.

- Okay.

- I told you before that I’m interested in male psychology. You are writing exactly what I want to know.

- Okay.

- I’m not forcing you. If you have something new in mind, you can incorporate that. But I do want to know about the fantasies behind your poems.

- Okay. That sounds nice.

- Yes, keep it up.

- Another question?

- Yes tell me.

- Don’t you want to know about the girl?

- No. I want to read it in your draft.

- Yes, that’s the way it should be.

- Exactly. Any more questions?

- No, I got the point.

- Yes, now do it the way you want to do it.

- Yes, I need some time.

- Nobody is forcing you. Just keep it up.

- Okay. But…

- But what? Tell me don’t hesitate.

- The second diary…

- Yes the ‘Grey Diary’…

- Yes, that’s mainly about frustration.

- Yes I guessed that. So…

- So I was thinking whether it’ll be fine to depict it as it is or there should be some extra flavour to spice it up.

- (Excited) No no no, don’t just spice it up. I told you it has to be pure.

- Okay, okay. I got the point. I’ll write it as it is.

- Yes. That’s better.

- Okay, thanks a lot!

- I’ll call you soon.

- Okay.

- Bye.

84. THE POEM ‘IRE’

Fearing the death, the naked life lives cowardly.

The time whips hard on bare body.

The poems become lost with no value for it.

In the heart there remains cowardly ire.

The protest gets lost in the labyrinth of power.

As shadows demand, the life is climbing up the ladder.

At the day-end weary mind closes eyes in fear.

The greed of seeing light in dark dream is there.

Sound after sound make a riddle to be inert.

The silent lamentation of incomplete poem

Encroaches the unknown chamber of heart -

The ire of failed spark in soaked gunpowder.

85. FANTASY OF ‘IRE’

When he was writing this poem, he spent almost two years in the campus of his film school. He was a studious hardworking student. He attended almost all the classes regularly. He completed the projects successfully so far. But he was uncertain about his future. He was continuously hearing about the struggle of upcoming future. He was a guy, who wanted peace and happiness. But Indian economy was slowly moving toward privatisation as a result of the fall of Soviet Union. His teachers were silent about it. As a film school student he started reading Eisenstein, Ken Dancyger etc. He was becoming trained in tasty and good cinema. But Indian Film Industry was highly driven by bad hybrid low cinema. That made him frustrated. He wanted to protest against everything. But he felt helpless since he could only write a poem with a pen and paper. Cinema cost patronisation. Neither he was from a rich family nor he found any opportunity of sponsorship. Thus he imagined the ire of failed spark in soaked gunpowder.

86. THE POEM ‘SMELL OF THE FLOWER, BOKUL’

I know you think

My greed is there for your eyes.

You think that my five senses want to touch you.

I don’t disagree.

You wriggle back often.

Yet, both of us rush to each other

And come back too

With invisible alibi.

This way many years were spent.

Today suddenly it is raining.

The babbling sound of Ichhamoti

Fills the heart.

Believe me after almost years

The memory of your essence

Has covered me completely.

The smell of a treeful bokul flowers in the river water.

87. FANTASY OF ‘SMELL OF THE FLOWER, BOKUL’

Amid the frustration about future career, he was surviving with the memory of his girlfriend. He was busy with study. He was writing for a little magazine. But whenever he was alone, he reminisced about his girlfriend. She was going away from his life. But his heart was not being able to forget it. On one hand his dream that was continuously being challenged by the establishment. On the other hand his fantasies about his girlfriend. He actually became busy with life and tried to forget her. But his memory, his heart and his brain were continuously telling him about her. This was making him homesick very often. But he was struggling hard to get out of this. After a spell of busy life, one fine morning she returned to his memory in a rainy day. Ichhamoti is the name of a river that is there at his mother’s ancestral place, Basirhat. So far he visited the place several times. So he recalled that. He also recalled the evergreen Bokul tree that was there at his hometown opposite to the gate of his high school. He was thinking about all these things randomly and becoming homesick.

88. THE POEM ‘TWO OF US’

Two of us stare

At each other.

Yet we are scared;

What if something happens?

89. FANTASY OF ‘TWO OF US’

Again he was recalling his heydays of the past. Now he was getting more mature. And he had watched many movies so far. He had been reading a lot. So he was recollecting the memory of how they stared at each other and if they met again, probably sex could happen.

90. THE POEM ‘TWO OF US’

That day both of us stared at each other.

Both of us wanted to get close to each other,

But somewhere the desire faced obstruction.

I had greed in my eyes.

Probably your eyes had it too.

Yet there was the desire to get close.

You flew with your showy wings.

I flew with my dreams.

We could not get close to each other.

91. FANTASY OF ‘TWO OF US’

This poem was the extension of the previous poem. Both the poems were written on the same day. Now he was trying to get rid of his sexual desire. He was writing about a tentative real conclusion of their love that originated in a small town and did not get ripe because of the society especially the old people, who tried to impose their dreams and ideas on to the younger generation. Their orientation was different. Except his father and teachers, all the old people of the town were screwed with the idea of running after money. Thus she would probably get married to a dumb mediocre merchant in the near future.

92. THE POEM ‘FROM THE GARRET’

From the garret, I saw the city.

Suddenly a drop of water flew in.

Cloudy sky,

Cool wind.

Hug my body tight. It felt good.

Wish to get wet.

Yet I can’t.

From the garret I saw standing

Wet road, wet cars.

93. FANTASY OF ‘FROM THE GARRET’

The girls would come to him indeed. This poem had nothing to do with his girlfriend. The times were changing. He met a girl Sumana, who left the film school since she was shocked by the ragging. She used to invite him often to their rented house in North Kolkata. He used to phone her too. Now he forgot all the conversations with her. All he could remember that she mentioned about rain and garret once. Again he put him in her shoes and wrote this poem for her.

94. THE POEM ‘NO FIRE ANYMORE’

Why do you come time and again?

I acquired the skill

Of dreaming alone.

I fell in love with the grey life and

The eye of the bird.

No fire anymore,

Only there are smoke and ash.

Cloudy sky,

Cloudy river water,

On the grey canvas the black birds –

Flowers fall down,

The lone bald tree,

Monotonous sorrow in the heart.

Yet, it’s raining again.

Why do you come time and again

With wetness?

I recall the childhood, I feel overwhelmed

To get wet soon.

Yet, no fire anymore,

Only there are smoke and ash.

95. FANTASY OF ‘NO FIRE ANYMORE’

Now he became busy with life. But the beauty of nature was making him romantic. He was trying to get rid of his feelings. But he was not being able to do so since he started to meet new girls in his life. And in every girl, he was now finding love. Living away from home, he was looking for his girl friend in every girl. That was the beginning of a new journey. He would keep looking for a girl, who could inspire him in writing poems.

96. THE POEM ‘ROTTEN CORPSE’

I’ve lost my way in the middle of the sea.

My boat is directionless.

The sun sets in the west.

The darkness of fear, depression, anarchy

Becomes denser slowly.

The storm rages on.

I’m the lone boatman in the middle of the sea.

The throat becomes dry.

The salty water hits the eyes.

The eyes get burnt.

In the dark I sit grasping the oar.

Yet in the end it is not saved.

Everything turns upside down.

The deadly effort to float –

Yet, it goes down slowly.

In the land of pearls and jewels,

There lies the rotten corpse.

98. FANTASY OF ‘ROTTEN CORPSE’

This was his state of mind in the same year. He was doing everything to get settled down properly in near future. He accepted the fact that he had lost his girlfriend. So he was hopeless now. He was trying hard to survive. He was studying in one of the only two national film institutes of the country. But he could see no future. He was utterly frustrated. So he compared himself with the rotten corpse. The film school was happening. But he did not have money in his pocket. He was surviving with a little bit of money that his father was sending to him every month. But that was not the real crisis. He never wanted money since he thought that he would get a better living by pursuing his passion. But he was seeing no way out. And the capitalist world did not believe in creativity, sympathy or kindness. It was hard to sell the passion. In fact it was a matter of debate about where and how to sell the passion since that was what the market economy all about. So he was clueless about his future. But it did not stop him from creating art. He started writing the novel ‘Orange’ among all these. But his heart was going through ups and downs. He had a dream to make a cinema out of ‘Orange’. But he did not know how. After finishing the draft of Orange, he would mail it to some studios in Hollywood and the draft would get leaked soon. After a few years he would find that the concept of the great banyan tree was stolen as home tree in a movie by a famous award winning director. And Orange would change the world soon. But he would not get anything out of his creativity. His frustration would continue.

99. THE POEM ‘LET IT BE HAPPY’

Let the butterfly take bath in the dew drop of dawn.

Let the smell of shefali flower be smeared with her.

It does not matter if I can touch it or not.

Let the earth be happy.

100. FANTASY OF ‘LET IT BE HAPPY’

This poem was about his sacrifice. He wanted to touch her girlfriend. But she was staying far away now. He was not sure whether he would be able to touch her again or not. So he was being realistic and happy about life.

101. THE POEM ‘THE FAMILY MAN’

These days I don’t feel angry or happy.

I don’t feel repentant or arrogant.

All the emotions remain immobile inside.

I commute to office and go for shopping.

I act along the whole day

Not because I’m in distress or sorrow.

This has become my habit.

The sigh has become my habit.

To lose has become my habit.

To be weary has become my habit.

And also not seeing after seeing it has become my habit.

Sometimes I feel how about breaking the habit.

Thinking that it was not a bad idea

I go to Darjeeling.

Something more?

I don’t think it’s possible in this life.

102. FANTASY OF ‘THE FAMILY MAN’

This was again a poem he was writing on behalf of others. He saw the daily lives of his teachers. He saw the daily life of his cousin brother, who was a brilliant student but he did not leave Kolkata as he fell in love with the city. These people neither ran after money nor got involved in any kind of out of the box idea. He saw the clerks in his film school. They were also same. They were family lover. Though they were very much aware of the politics and world order, they chose a peaceful family life in the city of Kolkata. So he was putting himself in their shoes to hone his skill of poetry writing.

103. THE POEM ‘THE EYES’

He loves the two eyes like a fool.

He loves them ignoring all the thoughts.

One day he thinks that

He will go closer.

Then he will stare, for a long time,

At those eyes.

But he has no spare time.

So the wait begins.

But he cannot go closer.

The sight gets blurred in the dust of history.

The smell of heated stone in hoofs of horses,

The smell of rotten corpse,

Surpassing all these there appears the fragrant perfume.

Yet, he cannot go close.

The sight gets blurred.

The mind becomes eager.

The smoke becomes denser.

The blood becomes hot.

The eyes disappear slowly.

He scouts like a fool.

The perfume becomes harsher.

He becomes calm.

The eyes disappear gradually.

He becomes calm.

104. FANTASY OF ‘THE EYES’

Again the pain for her girlfriend returns. He wanted to say that among all he was still looking for those eyes. He was recalling the medieval history that he read in his school life. But nowhere could he find them. He was frustrated and slowly accepting the fact that he had to lose her. So he was pacifying himself by writing this abstract surreal dreamy poem.

105. THE POEM ‘TIME OF LOVE’

Keeping the expectation of love

In the heart,

It surrenders everything to the security.

The craziness of power play

Has to be seen with wide awake eyes.

The time of love is only there

Within the dream.

106. FANTASY OF ‘TIME OF LOVE’

He was busy doing the course at his film school. He was unlike other students, who took things casually. He took every lesson so seriously that he had no spare time at all. Meanwhile he was noticing the power play of his teachers. They used to blame each other. He did not like it since his father was also a teacher. So it appeared to him as a power game. He was also aware of politics. So he thought that he could not do anything about it since he was so insignificant a being that he could not even have time for love because of these powerful teachers. So he wanted to dream about love. The sleep was only the time, when he could think about love.

107. THE STRESS TALE

These poems were reminding him the old days of struggle and suffering. He was again going down the memory lane. But all the memories were not pleasant. So he was feeling stressed within. Stella guessed that. So she phoned him,

- Hi

- I’ve not finished the Grey Diary yet.

- I know.

- How do you know?

- I mean I guessed that.

- Okay.

- Are you feeling stressed?

- Yes, a bit

- I guessed that.

- How?

- It’s quite natural since you’re recalling your past now.

- I did it while working on the first diary too.

- Yes, that was not about frustration.

- True. You are a clever woman.

- Whatever; do one thing?

- What?

- Send me whatever you’ve written so far.

- Okay.

- May I ask you a personal question?

- Why are you being so formal?

- Okay, let me ask you directly.

- That’s better.

- Are you married?

- No

- Do you have a girlfriend?

- Yes.

- Where is she now?

- She is in Mumbai now.

- Okay she belongs to Mumbai…

- No she belongs to a suburb of Kolkata.

- Okay.

- So I guess she is also stuck now.

- Yes.

- What’s her name?

- Dipabali.

- What?

- Leave it you can call her Dipa.

- Yes, I’ll call her Dipa.

- Yes.

- Okay send me the draft. I’ll call you soon.

- Okay.

- Bye.

He sent her the draft immediately and waited for her reply. She read it quickly. The next morning she phoned him again,

- Hi

- Have you read it?

- Yes, it was frustratingly great.

- (Smile) Yes, that’s how it should be described.

- Now tell me one thing.

- What?

- Do you know the Governor of California?

- What a great question! How would I know?

- You should know.

- Okay.

- He is my friend. His name is Gavin.

- Where are you now?

- I’m in Chandigarh.

- Which state is it?

- Punjab.

- Okay. Can you just spell it?

- Yes.

- Wait for a second.

- Okay.

She brought a pen and a diary and asked him again,

- Okay now spell it.

- Spell what?

- (Smile) You are really frustrated and getting forgetful too.

- Yes true.

- Spell the name of the state, where you are staying now.

- Okay. P for Peter, U for umbrella, N for Norway, J for Jordan, A for Afghanistan, B for Boston.

- Okay. Do you know the name of the governor of this state?

- No I know the name of the chief minister.

- Is he the elected chief of the state?

- Yes, he is equivalent to your Governor.

- Okay.

- What’s his name?

- Amarinder Singh.

- Please spell it.

- A for Australia, M for Monday, A for Afghanistan, R for red, I for India, N for New Zealand, D for Doll, E for Egypt, R for red. That’s his name. And the surname is Singh.

- Yes I know many Singhs.

- Why are you asking these things?

- You won’t understand.

- Okay.

- Take rest and keep writing. I’ll call you soon.

- Okay.

- Bye.

She cut the phone. After a few seconds the car cleaner called him. He got down the stairs with the key and opened the car door for him. And then he walked up the stairs to his apartment and phoned the laundry man so that he came and collected the used clothes for washing and pressing.

108. THE POEM ‘THE MAD’

Looking at the sun in the east sky, the mad pundit thinks

It could’ve been burst in the middle of the sky.

The colours would’ve sprinkled and have made the clouds wet.

The clouds would’ve got shrunken becoming sweet cakes.

If the cakes fell on the ground after a shake in the sky,

The breakfast could’ve been done with only those things.

Every morning, thus, he used to look at the sun.

Every one would think that he was busy in worshipping the sun.

109. FANTASY OF ‘THE MAD’

It was a pure nonsense poem. There was a proverb in Bengali that if one had food in his stomach, he could tolerate a lot of pain. At the same time he recalled the nonsense poems of Sukumar, a famous Bengali nonsense writer, whom he read in his school life. Coincidentally he visited a sound studio of one of his teachers for an internship programme, where he saw huge posters depicting the poems of this famous poet. At the same time he was facing problems with food in the campus of the film school since till then there was no mess facility in the hostel, though later the administration would give it a thought after an agitation. With all these experiences he tried to write a nonsense.

110. THE POEM ‘WHITE FLOWER’

The calm smoke in the tea cup; Sitting by the window

He looks outside with calm eyes.

Nearby a white flower beneath a green tree

Is lying being wet with dew in the calm morning.

Beautiful, beautiful and beautiful is she -

Far better than war, cry, lamentation and the world.

111. FANTASY OF ‘WHITE FLOWER’

It was a flashback poem written in a December just after joining the film school. December is the time of soothing winter in Kolkata. So the weather was pleasant. But the world was busy with war. People were dying for nothing. Most probably it was the time of Iraq war. So he did not like people dying, crying and lamenting anywhere in the world. Thus he wrote this poem.

112. THE POEM ‘IT’S SMOKY ALL AROUND’

It’s smoky all around.

Inside the spark smoulders

Slowly and slowly.

The blue sky and the green earth

Get lost in the world of smoke.

It feels like to talk

With the ghost, god, and spirit.

It feels like to dream all day long

After the sleep.

In the dream there is a well.

Below there are snakes wriggling.

It feels hungry.

The sleep gets broken.

The unstable mind scouts for fairy tales.

With beauty, humour, palace and wealth

There arrives the prince of dream.

With the princess he gets fused

After love, touch and lone affair.

For a moment sweet air flows inside.

It feels good.

Yet the quest does not stop.

Searching and searching in smoke of weariness

Two eyes get closed.

113. THE POEM ‘IT’S SMOKY ALL AROUND’

This was again a poem he was writing for those, who love fairytales and look for their Mr Right. Actually he was again trying to research on her girlfriend’s psychology that was totally driven by the fantasy of good look. He was also not an exception. He liked her. But now he realised that he liked her not only because she was pretty. But it was mainly because of the discourse of his childhood and puberty. Had he not spent time with her, he would not have fallen for her. It was not only the beauty, it was something more. She believed in god due to her orientation. But he was strongly driven by other materialistic philosophies. So now he understood that only with beauty one could not survive for a long. Actually the dream, hunger and beauty were correlated. Thus this surreal poem to explore the fantasy of her girlfriend.

114. THE POEM ‘LET THE FOUNTAIN FLOW’

Let the fountain flow on your body.

Let the fountain flow in my mind.

Let the fountain flow babbling babbling

With the taste of elixir.

Let the bud bloom at night.

Let the stars smile

After a long period of time.

115. FANTASY OF ‘LET THE FOUNTAIN FLOW’

This was again a poem to cheer him up. He was studying in the film school. He was attending classes regularly. He was doing the projects. Amid all he was meeting new girls, who were making him nostalgic about his girlfriend. So he missed her and he was recalling her by writing this poem about wet beauty. He wanted to see her wet in water. He wanted to hug her with his wet mind. He wanted to be all wet in a starry night.

116. THE POEM ‘SUDDENLY THE BODY GETS WET’

Soul and soma want to part way.

The desire travels in the land of sound, colour and light.

The smell of flower seems good.

The red light makes it feel crazy.

From the bee hive a drop of honey

Suddenly falls on the tongue.

Suddenly the body gets wet.

From the river there comes the sound of rain.

117. FANTASY OF ‘SUDDENLY THE BODY GETS WET’

This poem was the result of watching cinema. The cinema was technically created out of the three components sound, colour and light. Cinema was basically an illusion of reality that affect directly on the mind. Mind can fly everywhere. But the body was an obstacle to its imagination. So they wanted to be separate. At least he felt like that while writing the poem. Other lines were the ornaments that he used to decorate the poems.

118. THE POEM ‘BYPASS’

In front of my film school

There is the wide E.M. Bypass.

On the divider a mad woman

Used to stay with her ‘belongings’.

Along the Bypass the car used to go.

The buses and bikes used to go.

And quite often she used to shout.

One day upon curiosity I asked her,

‘Why do you shout?’

She just laughed at me.

‘What’s the history behind her laugh?’ -

I thought like a fool.

I didn’t think that like the skyscrapers

By the bypass,

This history has no market value.

119. FANTASY OF ‘BYPASS’

He saw a dishevelled shabby nasty mad woman residing on the divider of the road E.M. Bypass in Kolkata. His film school was situated by this road. So he thought of this poem since nobody cared about the mad woman. He heard the stories of many talented people becoming mad in the end of their lives. He was unsure about his future too. So he wanted to write something about this.

120. THE POEM ‘BYPASS-1’

The standing girl on the bypass –

I like you.

I like your hair,

I like your attire and your glance,

Suddenly

I like it too much.

The momentary joy,

The momentary frustration.

Yet everyone moves on.

I also move on, hopeless.

121. FANTASY OF ‘BYPASS-1’

As mentioned above, he was now looking for her girlfriend everywhere. As he used to eat at the street side food shops till the administration brought in the mess facility, he often used to travel along the sidewalk of E.M. Bypass. And like every young boy, he used to look at the beautiful girls. He started to develop the fetish for the appearance of the girls. Every time he saw a girl, he wanted to talk to her and play with her like he did it with his girlfriend in his childhood and teenage. But it was not possible since in the unknown city everybody was unknown and every encounter was unknown. So he was afraid about the unknown girls as every gentleman was.

122. THE POEM ‘BYPASS-2’

When I walk by the Bypass,

I see drain, dusty jujube tree,

And jungle flower.

I see stray dogs,

The perfume that walks by

Comes and shakes the dream.

Bypass of dust, green, and garbage –

By it there are the nascent skyscrapers.

123. FANTASY OF ‘BYPASS-2’

This was a poem of Japanese style. He was learning Nihongo in a nearby university. There his teacher introduced him to Japanese poems. From there he learned the styles of visual description. Later he would also write a few haikus. So this poem was a visual description of the Bypass that he experienced everyday - nothing more or nothing less.

124. THE POEM ‘LET IT BE CALM’

Let the blue survive in the sky.

Let the mustard field be yellow.

Let the green come back again.

Let the mind calm down, calm down and calm down.

125. FANTASY OF ‘LET IT BE CALM’

His mind was unstable since the busy world was unstable. The city of Kolkata, like all other cities, were congested and disturbed with human crowd. So he wanted fresh air and nature to be back. Somewhere down the line this torture of ‘civilisation’ on the mother earth had to stop and the mind needed to be refreshed.

126. THE POEM ‘GOOD’

The just unjust have gotten confused.

The colourful lights were everywhere.

The seven hues of the evening have

Settled down with full might.

Violet is good, blue is good.

Green is good, yellow is good.

Orange is good, red is good.

The time of liking them has just gotten limited.

127. FANTASY OF ‘GOOD’

This poem was the extension of the previous poem. He was getting so busy with life that he could not cherish the beauty. Like every people around he found himself becoming mechanical. He was simply jeopardised with busyness. He wanted to get rid of that.

128. THE POEM ‘GREY SEA’

The grey sea -

Again there is darkness.

The five senses suffer in fever.

Invisible lamentation.

For whom and why?

The failed question

Time and again.

129. FANTASY OF ‘GREY SEA’

This was a flashforward poem. When he was writing this poem, he left the institute. He went to Mumbai and returned from there back home in northern Bengal. Then he again shifted back to Kolkata. Without a job, he felt frustrated. He was doing freelancing. Meanwhile he suffered in fever for a few days. He had had this disease of cough, cold with fever, since his childhood. He also had problems in his tonsils. But he had a habit of documenting feelings as poems. Thus he wrote this poem.

130. THE POEM ‘THE PAST’

The heart becomes empty. Lamentation!

The storm rages. The mind becomes blank.

Many words return anew.

There were mistakes in calculations.

But there was no escape.

There was no possibility to return.

The time laughs in persiflage.

Frustration and nightmare circle the life.

Where is the end? Where does it end? –The mind keeps scouting.

The debris of history spreads its hands.

The past – that’s only the wait of time.

131. FANTASY OF ‘THE PAST’

By this time his girlfriend got married. His brain accepted it. But his heart did not. So he was being pessimistic about everything. He thought that it was a mistake to leave his home town. It was a mistake to come to Kolkata for higher study since his school life and childhood was so rich. He scored a bad result in his college life due to the absence of his girlfriend. Then in the film school all the minds appeared to be polluted with the dream of quick success. He neither wanted success nor the fame. He only wanted to get back to his girlfriend and thus to his home town. This was a suicidal poem. The last line revealed his intention that in near future he would commit suicide. But poems would make him alive. Had he not been able to write poems as catharsis, he would have definitely committed suicide. So he was telling that everything would be the past.

132. THE POEM ‘FOR YOU’

For you I can write

Pages after pages.

In a moment I can fill

Thousands of diaries.

For you I can draw

A lot with water colour.

For you I can become

A failed poet.

133. FANTASY OF ‘FOR YOU’

Frustrated with life, he started preparing for a civil service examination. He hated sound and cinema that ruined his life. Thus he joined a reputed coaching centre in the city of Kolkata. There he saw a pretty madam, who used to teach political science. It did not happen for everyone. But this madam aroused the feeling inside him again. Thus he wrote this poem.

134. THE POEM ‘ALMS’

Many words cannot be told

Since those do not sound well.

The heart gets heavy with unknown weight.

It’s said that weeping makes it light.

I don’t know. The eye water got vapourised many days ago.

Cacophony all around –

People die again they enjoy.

So what?

I live in an isolated island.

My happiness has been lost many days before.

I hate the alms of kindness.

135. FANTASY OF ‘ALMS’

This poem showed the bitter truth about the unorganised film world, where employment happened by references. So he got his first job in his film school itself as an intern. But the job was totally manufactured and given by the higher authority though the requirement was there. As a result of the job because of too much of travelling due to the conspiracy of a teacher and a few of his batch mates, he developed permanent backache for the first time. After this he went to protest against it to the head of the department. He said that he had been taken in this job to clean the shit. His subordinate teacher, who sent him for a production assistant’s job to Pune via Chennai, said to him that he was there to bear his orders. He wrote a note against him. In reply to the note he used the word ‘request’. For the first time he realised that it’s nothing but a political game being played by his superiors. And when he texted to the teacher, who referred his name to the administration, about whether his contract would get renewed or not, he simply said ‘no’. Now he realised the game being played against him. Since then he hated sound and any of the people, who were bossy and acquired a higher post with higher salary. He would simply not talk to them until it was not extremely urgent. Yes he developed a complex that told him continuously to hate the bossy higher authority. And it would not go so easily.

136. THE POEM ‘MELANCHOLIC’

For a long time I have not swum in the river water.

For a long time I have not talked to you.

For a long time I have not felt the air by the calm river.

For a long time I have not met my Nepali friend.

I’m not feeling well. I’m not feeling sleepy.

In the cloudy mind it’s raining cats and dogs.

137. FANTASY OF ‘MELANCHOLIC’

He met a Napali police officer once while travelling by a train to his home town. He was a nice guy having a great passion for cinema and music. He would take him to Darjeeling several times to build up a film school over there. This plan was still going on. But due to his jobs, he had been travelling across the country. So he was missing him. He was missing his girlfriend. And he was missing his home town. So he was feeling sad and melancholic.

138. THE PAUSE

Again he was tired of going down the memory line. So he took a bit of rest. He was not awaiting any phone call. He simply wanted a peaceful break. But Stella understood it. He was struggling to translate the poems since they were reminding him about the days of his frustrations. The Grey Diary was all about that. And it was the longest one. The year 2007 and 2008 were most frustrating to him. He had no clue about the future. He was surrounded by fake success mongers. So he paused for one day. The next day when he was sitting to write after the breakfast, at around 10 o’clock Stella called him,

- Hi

- Yes.

- What are you doing now?

- Just sat for writing.

- And you were not being able to write.

- Yes.

- It happens. Take rest.

- Yes. It’ll take more time than what I expected.

- Don’t worry. Take your time.

- Yes, it’s going more and more depressing. I’m just thinking of finishing the Grey Diary as soon as possible.

- No no. Take your time. It has to be pure and truthful. Don’t do anything in hurry.

- I have contacted Gavin.

- Who is Gavin?

- My friend and the governor…

- Yes you told me that.

- Yes

- You contacted him about what?

- I told him about you.

- And what happened…

- He said he would do anything to materialise our dream projects.

- Why? Don’t you have the money?

- Yes I have. But your Orange got stolen, right?

- Yes.

- So, we need a little bit of political help.

- Okay.

- Gavin will soon contact Amarinder.

- Okay.

- You take rest and try to write and don’t leak what I said to you.

- Okay. I’ll not leak anything. In fact so far I did not tell anything about this project to anyone.

- Yes, that’s better.

- How is your girlfriend?

- She is fine.

- You know what happened near Mumbai?

- No. What happened?

- Mob lynching.

- I did not get the news.

- I knew it.

- When did it happen?

- Two days back. Call your girlfriend and check whether she is safe or not.

- Okay. I’ll call her right away.

- Don’t get panicked. The situation is under control.

- Okay.

- Just ask her how she is doing.

- She did not tell me anything about it.

- May be she does not know about it at all.

- She is eating and sleeping in Mumbai.

- She should do it.

- Yes, what else could be done in this situation?

- Yes, true. Just call her and talk as you did it before. Don’t feel panicked or give her panic.

- Yes, true.

- Good night.

- Bye.

Stella cut the phone. Immediately he called her girlfriend in Mumbai. She was preparing breakfast. She told her about the news. She also did not know it. She said that she would call back after watching the television. After a few minutes she called back and described the situation to him. She added that people did not understand their own good. More than hundred people had already been arrested. However she told him not to worry.

139. THE POEM ‘NEARBY, GLISTENING THE HEAVEN’

Nearby, glistening the heaven,

-the sea of sensation.

It feels weary after running for ages,

Whole body is naked, busy, disheveled and cliché,

Though the sandy beach sparkles and the daylight softens, it sweats.

It sweats till the perspiration mixes with tear.

The eyes burn in pain.

Sparkle of sand fades away somewhere,

The sea water is softer, glitzier and glistening more and more,

The naked life runs, to dive into it, on the shore.

Slowly the sea comes closer,

And slowly her time runs up toward the end.

Nearby,

Glistening the heaven.

140. FANTASY OF ‘NEARBY, GLISTENING THE HEAVEN’

This was a poem about uncertain future. After writing this poem, he read a real story in a newspaper that an aspiring model committed suicide in Howrah. This sparked insecurity inside him since he was also going to work in the same profession in near future. He felt that he was close to the massive Indian Film Industry, but he had no clue about how to enter the industry. He saw the big studios in Mumbai as his teacher took them to the studios as part of an industry tour. But he also added that the people working there were getting alms of money except the head engineer. These stories made him feel isolated, insecure and frustrated. And just then this news of suicide appeared in the newspaper. A dream to be big in the tinsel town got extinguished. So his imagination followed the suit, which was not at all expected. Thus he again felt really unhappy about it since he could have been the subject to this fatal expectation. This story made him cautious about the future.

141. THE POEM ‘UNATTACHED’

Poetry, poetry, poetry -

Holding the pen the burnt mind sits idle.

Yet, a single line cannot be written.

The sadness within is kept by

The immobile words.

Only the heart gets churned up,

The eyes are tired of looking at things,

Whether it’s bad or good,

Incidents happen everywhere.

Unattached, uncommitted mind

Live fearing the death.

142. FANTASY OF ‘UNATTACHED’

Almost two months he could not write a single poem. But now he got a little bit of spare time. But he became inert. He was not liking the place where he was being for the time being. He was facing a block. He asked for a new mattress from the warden, but he had a tendency to serve the students from rich background. And he was seeing this typical ‘production’ mentality everywhere in the film school. This was how this world ran. He would be a silent spectator to everything. And always he would not be able to write it down.

143. THE POEM ‘MY FILM SCHOOL’

Challenging many odds

My film school lives.

Amid the good, bad and joy

The conspiracy of living gets lost.

From the sky on the lake water rain falls.

The eyes get satiated with the smoke of water.

Yet, a drop of water oozes often

From the corners of two eyes.

With a heartful of frustration the helpless bud,

Lives in the hope of blooming someday.

144. FANTASY OF ‘MY FILM SCHOOL’

He was a silent spectator of everything happening around. He was reading Rumsey and McCormick, Glenballou etc as a sound specialization student to prepare himself for the future war. He was facing many odds in his film school life. Yet, he had a tendency not to give up hope. After every depression, he tried to cheer him up. And all he had a pen and a paper to do that. This was his weapon to rectify all the odds. So he wrote this poem of hope keeping the reality intact. This poem summed up all his experiences in the film school.

145. THE POEM ‘BUBBLE’

In deep dark of the blue sea

A bubble goes up to the sea surface,

Where its death is

Waiting.

146. FANTASY OF ‘BUBBLE’

Again he was trying to write a poem in Japanese style - but this time with a touch of life. Every poem is related to life. But here it directly meant that the life would end soon after experiencing everything around. There was no other way out but to reach the sea surface i.e. the top and die. That’s the destiny of every life. No dumb astrologer was needed to predict this thing.

147. THE POEM ‘LIVING CORPSE’

The living corpse, lying in fever,

Does not lament anymore.

There is no love in unspoken words.

There remains only remnant of gunpowder.

A shore of ocean floats

In the unwinking callous eyes.

A lot surpassed,

Remaining - a lot more.

Weary mind seeks rest,

Within the womb of night.

Yet, the heart throbs day and night.

The living corpse awaits a painless retirement

Of the heart machine.

148. FANTASY OF ‘LIVING CORPSE’

Again he fell ill amidst the loneliness of city life. Though this poem sounded quite like the poem ‘Rotten Corpse’, it was different. He used to feel feverish whenever the season got changed. As told before he had some minor health issues that occurred during the season change time. He did not like this illness. And for a moment he felt like dying. So he just wanted to take rest after having medicine.

149. THE POEM ‘TRIVIAL HEART IN THE CROWD’

It’s a trivial heart in the crowd.

Hopes often peep up.

The explosive of dreams disappear in pain.

Helplessly two eyes stare.

The body is as busy as machines.

At the end of the day,

It’s the television that satisfies.

Yet the unsatisfied heart sits in vain,

Silently in urban air.

150. FANTASY OF ‘TRIVIAL HEART IN THE CROWD’

After experiencing the big bosses of the institute, he felt a crisis within. In the common room of the hostel there was no television. So he missed the television. He tried, but he could never accommodate himself with the life of the new city until his cousin brother would take him at their adda of a little magazine. Even there new erudite people used to come and he was a mere listener in every case. That time enriched him indeed. At the same time it made him lonely in the city. He wanted to speak. But he could not. So he felt like a trivial heart in the crowd.

151. THE POEM ‘REMIND ME’

When my friends move away from me, so bless me that

I do not have time to wonder.

When close ones leave me slowly, so bless me that

I do not have time to cry.

Only after walking a long distance

In a strange crowd of known faces,

Keep reminding me that

I am a trivial drop of life among millions.

152. FANTASY OF ‘REMIND ME’

So far he had written many poems. He had read some bad poems of some infamous poets. He just could not imagine how these silly poets got famous. He wrote poems to document his feelings. What more could it have to be unique? He never wrote for fame. He started writing at a much younger stage. He never struggled to become a poet. It came to him naturally. But he was seeing the arrogance of some poets, who really got famous by writing nasty dirty mediocre poems, which had neither any meaning nor connected to their lives. But they got famous rather infamous. But he never wanted to be like them. He wrote poems only when he felt an emotional upheaval in his heart. It was the documentation of his feelings indeed. So he was scared to end the life like them. So he never showed his poems to anyone but once to a very senior script writer. And he always wanted to be with people. He just did not want to be like them. It was always better to be a trivial heart in the crowd.

153. THE POEM ‘BUSY YOU’

Though I know you are busy

With your work in your country,

Far away far away,

Yet closer and closer you come

By the tension of the rope of letters.

With the storm your name

Flies in along the sky.

Travelling the world becoming tired,

You’ll come to me -

Thinking that I am waiting

For you here.

154. FANTASY OF ‘BUSY YOU’

This was a long story. He went to Busan, the then Pushan, of South Korea to attend a workshop. There he met a pretty girl Tamara from Belarush. Later she would write letters to him. He would reply to those letters from his home town. And he would publish a magazine with her pictures and some of his selected poems. So he wrote this poem for her.

155. THE POEM ‘THE ANT’

The ant swims

Against the current

So that he can reach

The grass flower bloomed

On the riverbank.

156. FANTASY OF ‘THE ANT’

This poem again indicated his inner wish to get back to his girlfriend and thus his home town. So he was imagining a tiny ant’s effort to defy the huge river current and go against it to enjoy the beauty of the grass flower.

157. THE POEM ‘ON THE SEA SHORE OF MADRAS’

The light of the world will go out slowly.

With reflections of the dense clouds on the breast

The waves hit the sea shore

Of Madras.

158. FANTASY OF ‘ON THE SEA SHORE OF MADRAS’

This was a poem conceived by a sea beach of Madras. He got a scholarship to stay and study in Chennai. Before his final diploma film in the institute, he got the chance. The head of the department advised to go for the course as his director delayed to start the final project. So he spent all most six months in Chennai. There he met new friends, both girls and boys. They would inspire him to write again. Actually in Bengali, the Madras was pronounced as Madraj after her British name. It would become Chennai post independence. So he used the word ‘Madraj’in the Bengali poem actually.

159. THE POEM ‘I’M WATER’

How do I tell you that

I’m water.

I’m destined to flow.

You’re the goose.

You came and played on me.

I saw with happiness

While flowing with speed.

Certainly you thought this was my hoax.

But how do I make you understand

That I’m the river water?

160. FANTASY OF ‘I’M WATER’

This poem was written after travelling to Korea and Madras. This had made him curious about the new places. So he was comparing himself with river water and trying to convince her girlfriend that he was not playing any hoax with her. But the journey of life had taken him away from her, though this emotion was temporary. Soon he would feel homesick again.

161. THE POEM ‘IF YOU CAN…’

If you can hold me tight;

I want to be stable.

In the palm tree like the weaver birds

We’ll live together.

I know the storm will come.

The nest will be ravaged.

Yet, hold me tight.

I want to be stable and

Look at the blue sky with my wondering eyes.

162. FANTASY OF ‘IF YOU CAN…’

This poem again expressed his desire to be stable and to form a family with his girlfriend. He would start writing his next novel ‘InFaTuAtIoN’ within a month. In this novel he would try to describe his feelings for opposite sex as infatuation. This novel would be highly misunderstood, misinterpreted and used as an untold source of cheap cinemas. But he wrote this story at the backdrop of his home town. He would gift it to some of his friends as well as sell it to some people. However, he wanted to be stable. But he did not know how. His future was uncertain and he could not marry anybody because of financial instability. His father got retired. He would leave the institute very soon. Amid all these he tried to forget the love of his puberty as infatuation. This poem was his desire to marry his girlfriend. And the novel was his counter intention to forget the affair he had by calling it infatuation. The different forces were working inside him. He was developing multiple personalities. One person in him wanted to be stable in life. But the reality was telling him that it was not possible. So he developed another mature pragmatic writer in him. The novel was the result of the head-on collision between these two personalities. And the immature lover created the poem.

163. THE POEM ‘THE DRIZZLE, CONTINOUS’

Depression, tiredness, and the smoke of cigarette –

In the bitter mouth there’re the tasteless buds.

In the brain the non-working sparks

Run like a barren sperm.

In the hole of sexuality there’s the failure.

Only picture, blood red rose and

Smell-less wall paper.

Different from cry, laughter –

Undefined feelings below the eyes.

Yet, after a long time

It feels good to see the continuous drizzle out there

On the lake water.

164. FANTASY OF ‘THE DRIZZLE, CONTINUOUS’

This was a flashback poem. He was writing this poem just before he would start writing Orange. This was the time when the idea of Orange was slowly developing inside his brain. But he was not being able to pen it down. He started a little bit of smoking and occasional drinking in the institute. So he was feeling frustrated in his brain. This poem was an abstract description of his state of mind.

165. THE POEM ‘IT CALLS CLOSE’

The smoke in black hair,

On the lips there’s the explosive of rotten cigarette.

Yet, into the eye balls the heart builds its hut.

It calls close

And closer.

166. FANTASY OF ‘IT CALLS CLOSE’

Again it was an abstract poem. He was sitting in the tea shop on the opposite side of his institute. He was gossiping with his friends. He was smoking a little bit. Occasionally he was drinking in his room with his teachers. Especially the production teacher used to come to his room occasionally. He used to take him out to the clubs of Kolkata often. There they used to chit-chat with wine and food. This poem was the result of the burning desire to create something.

167. THE POEM ‘WHAT’S SO WRONG IN IT!’

If he suddenly feels ostracised, what’s so wrong it?

What’s so wrong in it if the solitary mind lives in the solitary sky?

If it does not live, what’s so wrong in it?

From the infinite vacuum to more vacuum

Walking a lot of distance, panting in tiredness,

Just before the death if he finds a chunk of

Childhood,

What’s so wrong in it!

168. FANTASY OF ‘WHAT’S SO WRONG IN IT!’

He could not remember where he conceived this poem. But it was clear that he was still in the quest of his childhood. Momentarily he felt lonely. And he had a complex that always drove him to think that he might die tomorrow. So he did not care anything at all. He used to respect people. But he had no fear as always. But when the people, he loved and respected, betrayed him, he felt sad and lonely. It used to happen quite often in the institute. He did not like this phenomenon at all. And whenever he felt betrayed, he used to feel lonely and go down the memory lane to his childhood that was pure and jovial. Thus this poem got conceived – a momentary frustration.

169. THE POEM ‘WHETHER IT FEELS GOOD OR BAD…’

Whether it feels good or bad,

To live is the destiny.

Counting the pains of love,

In the dream of acquiring the ultimate state of mind,

Getting absorbed is the peace.

In the weight of dream, hope and wait

The courage to love is dim.

170. FANTASY OF ‘WHETHER IT FEELS GOOD OR BAD…’

The lover inside him spoke again. The factors of real life were hiding the lover time and again. He wanted to say that the institute gave him dream. But the same institute snatched his love from him. At the same time dream was there. But no straight way to reach the dream was visible. So it was bringing frustration in mind. But one had to live with all of these. So it was a moment of nothingness in life that would continue for a long period of time.

171. THE POEM ‘IN THE LAND OF JOY’

In the same boat, reaching the village of joy

They met each other.

They talked, they felt good, and they could focus on

Creating the joy.

In the end of the day, they had enough weary spare time.

Beneath the moon beam,

Amidst the workers,

They talked for a while and they had the wish.

They had a little time.

Meanwhile the task of creating joy got ended.

In the same boat, crossing the river

Both of them hugged each other.

It felt good, it felt happy, and the mind became empty.

172. FANTASY OF ‘IN THE LAND OF JOY’

Till now he had not hugged any girl. So this was his imagination what could happen after he hugged any girl. So the platonic love, the imagination might get lost – that was his doubt. He was not from a culture that would simply copy anything from the west like the copycats do. He was well aware of the Western Civilisation. But he was never taught to copy them without any justification. So he was just from a culture that did not allow couple to hug each other in public. It was the culture of Indian subcontinent. And he was not crazy for a hug. He was rather crazy for sex that was what couple should do. He was simply not into the half culture of the half pants.

173. THE POEM ‘THE EYES’

A pair of eyes that want to

See me time and again –

Let’s finish the life looking for them.

If they are found, what will be left?

174. FANTASY OF ‘THE EYES’

This was again a philosophical poem in the quest for two eyes that were crazy for him. Actually he was looking for a true love without conditions. And that was not possible in the labyrinth of the system that he was living in now. So his skepticism grew more and more. In fact in a world, where everyone seemed greedy for success, true love did not exist. So he was predicting that he would not find a true love in this life.

175. THE POEM ‘THE AIR COMES AND KISSES’

The air comes and kisses the whole body.

The naked homeless mind floats into

The deep darkness of dream.

In the greed to taste the flawless joy

The flower falls on the mud.

It rolls up and down in crazy mirth.

The petals get torn one by one.

In the storm, water, mud clad night

The air comes and kisses the whole body.

The naked homeless petal floats into

The deep darkness of dream.

176. FANTASY OF ‘THE AIR COMES AND KISSES’

This poem was about the desire to have sex. He was not rich. He stayed far away from home so he was homeless. And the word homeless was quite akin to Bengal. Post independence India got divided by the conspiracy of the British. Thousands of people got homeless due to the partition. The most affected states were Punjab and Bengal. He belonged to Bengal. So the word homeless reminded him about the partition. He read the history. He heard about it from his parents. So he also felt like one of them as a Bengali. So the word homeless was very important for him. Now far away from his home, he felt like a homeless. And as a homeless young man he also had the desire to have sex. So he wanted to have sex now. But he was afraid of the dark consequences too.

177. THE POEM ‘BOKUL’

See my friend under the Bokul tree how the Bokuls drop.

The leaves of the Bokul tree, how they move up and down.

The cold wind comes and softly touches them.

Suddenly a drop of rain falls on my bare skin.

I wish after calling I tell you with the open heart

See my friend under the Bokul tree how the Bokuls drop.

178. FANTASY OF ‘BOKUL’

This was a fun rhyme. He was recalling the Bokul tree that was there opposite to the gate of his high school. By now he had mastered the art of rhyme. So he was imagining two girls were playing underneath the Bokul tree and enjoying the nature and fragrance. So it was completely his imagination. This poem was a result of the Bengali rhymes he had read so far plus his imagination and attraction toward girls.

179. THE POEMS ‘UNCOVERED’

He finished ‘Grey Diary’ according to the blog. So he sent a mail to Stella attaching the updated draft. After that he took a refreshing shower and shaved his beard. Now he thought of relaxing for a few days until Stella called back. After almost two days in the morning Stella called him,

- Hi

- Hi, good morning.

- Good evening. What’s up?

- Nothing much, just relaxing a bit.

- Okay, that’s great.

- Have you read it?

- Yes.

- And how was it?

- Fantastic.

- Thanks!

- Are you in touch with your family?

- Yes over phone.

- How do they do?

- Bored of the lockdown. But they are fine.

- How is the situation in India?

- Lockdown till 3rd.

- After that…

- No one knows, what’s going to happen.

- Situation is worse in here.

- You have any idea regarding what to do in this situation.

- I have no clue. I am also tired of this situation.

- Yes, everyone is suffering due to the virus.

- Here in India the daily wagers are suffering a lot.

- How did you get this information?

- My dad called me in the morning.

- And what did he say?

- In Kolkata, the daily wagers are facing huge trouble.

- That’s quite natural.

- What are the governments doing out there?

- No idea. In this situation every news agency is busy promoting the leaders.

- Did you get any information regarding the food stock of India?

- Yes, one of my friends said that the central government had sent rice grains for eight months to West Bengal government.

- You mean to the state where your family lives?

- Yes.

- That’s great.

- No but it was not getting distributed properly.

- Okay.

- And what about Mumbai?

- Cases were increasing every day.

- Yes same here.

- Okay. Take care.

- I think it’s all happening due to this strange economy.

- Yes true.

- So what’s your suggestion at this stage?

- I don’t know. All I know everything is under threat.

- As in?

- As it happens in every congested city.

- What do you mean? Tell me specifically.

- For example take any congested city like New York, Tokyo, Mumbai or Kolkata.

- What about them?

- In these cities people commute like cattle in local trains.

- Yes true.

- That’s under threat.

- True. What about villages?

- There is no proper village anymore. In villages the farmers don’t want to farm anymore because of rapid urbanization. And most of their families have migrant labourers, who are now stuck in different states far away from home.

- What are they saying?

- What to say madam? They are coming out to the streets saying that anyway they are going to die.

- So they are not afraid of the virus.

- No longer.

- That’s gonna be dangerous man!

- Yes. I guess more danger is ahead. Everybody has a right to live comfortably.

- In USA also enough food is there. It just has to be distributed properly?

- And the GDP driven market economy won’t allow that.

- Yes, that’s where we are stuck. What about Tata?

- He is an exceptional man. But again people could not wait for the mercy of the rich. Not every rich is benevolent. It’s the right of the people to live a comfortable and better life. This point has to be noted.

- (Smile) Yes. Noted with thanks. Now calm down.

- Are you going to work more on this draft?

- Yes, why not?

- No I was thinking that everyone is getting upset with the situation. So I should not force you.

- You have never forced me.

- Thanks. What next you want to work on?

- On the poems ‘uncovered’.

- The section ‘open’ or something like that?

- Yes, this section consists of poems both from ‘The First Diary’ and ‘Grey Diary’.

- Okay.

- Yes, But these poems contain limitless unrestricted fantasies.

- Okay.

- So I categorised them in the section ‘Uncovered’.

- So it’s gonna be explicit now?

- Yes kind of.

- Great! You are going great.

- Thanks.

- Another thing I wanted to tell you.

- What?

- Gavin phoned Amarinder.

- Really?

- Yes.

- And what did they talk about?

- Nothing much. I did not hear the conversation. But he said that you should keep in touch with your friends, who read your books.

- Yes, I am in touch with at least two friends, who thoroughly read my books.

- That’s enough.

- Why? Are you going to take it to the court?

- Yes something like that may happen.

- That’ll be great. And ..

- Yes tell me.

- I sent my books to National Library of India and Asian Film Academy Archive in Busan too.

- That’s fantastic.

- Thanks.

- Let’s wait for the normalcy. Everything will be alright.

- I hope so. And till now I don’t need any more money from you…

- (LOL) You are a gentleman, indeed.

- Thanks.

- Okay. Bye for now.

- Bye.

180. THE POEM ‘SHAMELESS’

The heart cries for joy, the old stops it.

Can’t think what to do and where to go.

Seeing the soft smile, blood red lips, warm body,

Tell me dear how to stop it, the wish spreads its wings.

My blood is primitive, my body is crazy.

Shameless is my creation, how do I hate it?

The callous heart keeps looking to the path of great time –

When will the thunder fall on the artificiality?

The laughter of the old will be burnt and destroyed.

The civilisation will smile again with a lot of greens.

The warmth will be aroused and the joy will be flowed.

The will will fly again, nobody will stop.

In the land of joy at calm and cold night,

I will do whatever I want with my love.

In the sky the moon will smile blue and calm.

On this earth the flute of limitless joy will play.

With the infallible honey of Mahua and in the make-up of madness

The Dunduvi will play on the land of greens.

The empty bereft basket of heart will be fulfilled.

With the hues of lust every sorrow will go.

The stream wet with moonbeam will make the soma wet.

The dream of love will be aroused in the suave, cold and slippery body.

On the earth there will come the primitive nudity.

The civilisation of Monu will be destroyed.

So, let it go, let the old go, let it go to hell.

We will stay back unshackled and float in the river of joy.

181. FANTASY OF ‘SHAMELESS’

Now he was reading about Monu and Batsayan. As it was told before he would not take anything without proper justification. So he was totally discarding the idea of Monu that said sex was a duty to produce child. He liked Batsayan more since he told that sex is fun. In this poem he was throwing venom to the community of orthodox old people, who were the unsaid obstacle to have an intercourse with his girlfriend. He simply hated them. This poem was written in his teenage in his ‘First Diary’.

182. THE POEM ‘THE CHANGE OF TIME’

The wish is there in my marrow, the shame is thus gone.

I want to live the way I want with my own religion.

Whatever the blood-flesh-heart-mind tell, I do.

I am free, not shackled, but I keep dying in love.

The fire is on my eyes and in the body there’s the heat.

Whenever I want I’ll burn the ultimate youth-mind.

The tide will come close, the mind will become crazy.

The garbage of the dead river will be washed off.

Come and lick the will deadly and regretless.

The cry and smile, fire and spring, are fused in one body.

The heart is indifferent toward the shout, slogans or protests.

With the sorrow and joy the lamentation of heart got mixed up.

I know that and I follow that and I hear the song of heart.

I’ve been sitting here for thousand years, awaiting you.

The wish peeps through the corner of eyes and mind.

The change of time will come to break the old make-up.

Enough is enough, impatient, no waiting anymore.

The vagabond will create his luck with his own hands.

183. FANTASY OF ‘THE CHANGE OF TIME’

Again this was a poem from his “First Diary’. This was the beginning of his puberty. He was experiencing change in his body and mind. The sexual desire was growing inside. He was becoming crazy to have sex with his girlfriend. But the society is stopping him from doing that. So he was writing this poem. It was told before that the emotion, enough is enough, will produce some of his poems. And this one was one of them.

184. THE POEM ‘THE RHYTHM OF LIFE’

I will go with you to a new land far away

With the make-up of a vagabond leaving the shackle.

I will go far away leaving behind all shame.

I’ll go filling the heart with infallible rhythm of life.

Running to the deep forest with the call of green

I’ll play with you, the princess of my heart.

The sun will see, the moon will see, the star will see

What a joy flows along the two hearts!

Sinking in the beauty-ocean of the eternal beauty,

I’ll scout the jewel of heart time and again.

For a thousand years what nobody could see,

That wave of the unknown land will float us across.

Floating in tide we’ll leave the notorious bond.

How does it matter if the fools keep on brawling with each other?

The beauty has called me, I will for sure respond.

Leaving the false attire, I’m coming, just wait my dear.

The heart wants, so I’ll leave the decent eyes.

With the seven hues, on the body river, I’ll play love -holi.

185. FANTASY OF ‘THE RHYTHM OF LIFE’

This was a poem about running away from the eyes of the society to a new land, where nobody would be there to dictate them. But that was not possible in a society, where people were bound by the so called decency. This poem was against the decency – a desire to play with the body of his love in a new land. Actually he wanted to be alone with his girlfriend and taste her body. But again the society was bound by the ‘decency’. So he felt to be 'indecent' with his girlfriend.

186. THE POEM ‘IN HEAVEN-HELL’

You want to tether the light with the rules, the fire with the society!

With the force you want to stop the evergreen spring!

Every effort will go in vain; you will die rotting-melting.

The rule of the free was written by the nature.

The moon and sun will bring in night and day.

The joy of love will be fulfilled with the spring.

The flowers will bloom on the earth till the light is there.

In the dark tell me how the flute can play!

The heart gets filled with the music and happy wine.

The cry and pain get lost in the sound of laughter.

So,

In heaven-hell with blood-smell let the decent race live.

Smeared with grace, in the wild joy, let the night be spent.

187. FANTASY OF ‘IN HEAVEN-HELL’

The love made him realise that life was not all about happiness. It cannot be so called pure or holy. This idea of holiness was a pure contradiction to the human life. And he thought of sex and he wanted to have sex. So he was protesting against the norms of the society that were preventing them to have sex. As a solution he was telling how to live both in hell and heaven at the same time. That was what life is all about. It simply could not be just pure and holy. It had to be a mixture of the both.

188. THE POEM ‘CONFLICT’

In the conflict between soul and soma and the primitive friction,

The limitless joy within the limit exists with the love-bond.

In the body the joy of love has reached the epitome.

So, the mind is shameless in the ocean of love.

The suave river, wet body, primitive nudity

Bring in heavenly joy and extreme madness.

Underneath the fountain in the fusion of two bodies

The scarlet green nature plays with the tune of ultimate joy.

Decent-indecent bargain is happening in full swing.

The mind does not know, the heart does not hear sitting out there.

189. FANTASY OF ‘CONFLICT’

This was a poem about the conflict and touch. He was eager to touch his girlfriend vividly. In the puberty as the sexuality gets ripe, he felt the urge to have sex with her girlfriend. But only having sex does not mean anything. So he was talking about primitiveness, where there was no shame. Absolute pleasure under the scarlet sky in the green nature would engulf them. They would also be nude to explore the friction of the two bodies. That was what he wanted to do.

190. THE POEM ‘INDOMITABLE’

The sky, adorned with seven hues of rainbow,

Smiles in the new joy-dense dawn with dreamollusion.

The life rushes to get lost having no destination.

The desire floods across the mad heart.

The slim river’s dream friction on well-built stone –

The cold life gets satisfied with the warm touch.

On the chest of deep dense hill with ups and downs

The soft light strikes upon with fully mad joy.

When the happiness and joy flood breaking the dam,

How could the dove-duo not respond?

191. FANTASY OF ‘INDOMITABLE’

He was now describing a proper backdrop for sex. This poem was all about sex metaphorically. He compared himself with a stone and his girlfriend with a hilly stream. Again he was comparing her with soft light and himself with a hill. This way he was describing the desire along the poem. He was trying to say that everything was conducive for a fusion. So how could they not respond to it?

192. THE POEM ‘THE WISH’

In the fountain-wet, soft-sweet, lotus-smell of body,

The sad mind dances with the rhythm of the warmth.

Amid the life of seven hues, there is the wish –

If the warmth does not touch it how could it play?

The heart day-dreams and the mind spreads its wings.

The birds in the sky keep on flying.

In the dark forest the deer runs after the doe.

In the shy eyes of the doe the wish plays.

The spring wind strikes the green leaves.

Amid these the wild goose finds the geese.

With the rhythm of light, shadow, soft wind, and calm waves,

The love gets spread across the pores of the body.

Across the sky, wind and nature with the call of heavenly desire,

The wave of love is running today, who could stop it?

193. FANTASY OF ‘THE WISH’

This was a poem taken from his life and dedicated to all the lovers of the nature. He always found animals are purer than human beings. And the love is also unconditional. It was only possible, when one became part of the nature. So he was comparing the lovers with the deer, the goose etc. He was also challenging the establishment by saying that no one could stop this wave of love. It was pure, unconditional and natural.

194. THE POEM ‘VIBRATION’

The body looks for supplement, the will spreads wings.

Inside heart, therefore, the shape is imagined.

From sky to universe to the road of cosmic time,

As a feel for body, the existence remains confined.

The just-unjust - calculations - would have got confusing,

Had the humankind not found a shape, amazing.

Zero and infinity are quite an enigma.

Between them there lies the pain of soul and soma.

The allurement of dreamy joy and invisible illusion -

Everywhere there is a chemistry, hidden.

The creation of new is always in pain -

The irresistible, impassioned, vibration's rain.

The vibration is old gold - the root of creation.

The vibrated is, therefore, in quest of jubilation.

195. FANTASY OF ‘VIBRATION’

This poem had a long story. He was studying in a reputed college in the northern suburb of Kolkata. Now the reality was it was a boys’ college. So, they always missed girl friends. A girls’ school was there by their college. But he did not have any interest in the girls of that school since till now his girlfriend was unmarried. By this time he completed the manuscript of his first book ‘Hotya’. As a friend he used to visit another reputed university, where his school mate Purabi got admitted. Now he was studying Physics. He was meeting Purabi with his friends. And in this process, he fell in love with Purabi. Why he had no idea? In the course of time Hawking’s work on string theory got published. He read about it and discussed it with his friends. From this theory and the love and affection toward Purabi, this poem was born. This poem was like a child of them, yes Purabi and him.

196. THE POEM ‘FREE’

Jumbled-up all the fun.

The disease is called 'Think-not'.

A vagabond still believes though,

The horizon is earshot.

A girl weeps sitting there.

Of the fact she is aware

That she is alone unlike others.

Nobody is there for her.

The drunk vagabond notices

And then he beckons her.

She senses danger.

Yet considering a stranger

She comes closer.

The vagabond asks,

- "Why do you weep dear?"

- "I've been looking for days.

But I can't find a peer

Of my kind.” She says.

- "Why do you search dear?

The time will flow away."

- "I think of so many things

That I wanna share someday."

- "Why do you think like a fool?

If you don't, you'll get all,

Whatever you want and long

- a handsome plastic doll."

-" I don't want all those."

-" Then what? Only voice?"

-"You are right - a free voice.

Would you hear? I'll say

What I thought till today."

-" No dear. I'm diseased."

-"What disease? What's the name?"

-" 'Think-not' - a rare disease."

-"How is it? Symptoms?"

-" Time kicks, pinches and

Slaps hard on and on."

-" How strange? Dangerous?"

-"Yes, very contagious.

The whole town is suffering.

That's why I am fleeing

To a land where there is no time."

-"Where is the land of no time?"

-"Still searching, still searching.

I haven't yet found the thing."

-"Would you take me with you?"

-"Where would I take you to!?

It’s not possible, I guess!

Tell me how I can spoil your flowery face.

I'm in a complete mess -

No house, no address.

I have only one friend -

The dust of the road to no end.

People call me mad.

Some call me drunk and bad.

As they say I don't fit

In their great land.

Also, I never wanted to stay with them.

Yet, my heart clings to my homeland.

-"Then why did you leave?"

-" There came the epidemic

Ruining the rythm of life.

The disease is called 'Think-not' -

A very rare type.

This disease touched me and

I left my homeland

To look for a remedy.

I'll go wherever I can find it.

Can you show me the way to the land of remedy?"

-"You are diseased, indeed.

You are diseased, indeed.

You have lost your sight

And the creative mind.

The land you are looking for

Is by your side.

Tell me wanderer,

'Will you take me with you?' "

-"Wait a bit, wait a bit.

Let me just think a bit.

Who are you and

Why did you come across?"

-"I am at a loss

And I want a free voice."

-"I am at a loss

And I want a free land."

-"If we unite and explore,

There will be sorrow no more."

-The vagabond looks

This way and that way for nothing.

The flowers are newly bloomed,

The grasses are soaked with the jewels of spring.

The freedom comes walking close

So easily!?

The mind becomes burden-less,

Wonderful, wonderful

So easily!?

Splashes of lake water;

Mirth in heart's chamber.

The horizon is put today

Inside two eyes.

The chirp of happy birds,

The tune of happy flute,

The hymn of young woman

Are heard inside.

The sight is of no control.

The vagabond thinks, 'let it roll.'

- "On this colourful day

It will take us,

Through the serpentine way

To a little happy nest."

-"In that nest there'll be light -

The light of our eyes.

The soft and blue light."

-"The free light, the open light,

The moon light, the star light,

The calm and the lost light

of free taste."

-"The joy, the free hope and

The free thoughts will come

One after another doing good to us and

It'll be the best."

-"Where are you free girl?

Please spread out your hand.

Let me touch and let me be

Blessed in free land."

197. FANTASY OF ‘FREE’

This was a poem written when he was studying in the institute. This poem described his mental state. He could not propose to Purabi because he was uncertain about his future. He moved away from his home town. He could not propose to his girlfriend too. So he was now looking for a girl, with whom he could talk and who was like him meaning she had a vagabond mind. So he was anticipating a meeting that could change his life completely. Since his childhood he was a thinker. Besides studies he used to do a lot of things like playing football, drawing, reading story books and a lot more things. Everything was stopped after leaving home. The city Kolkata took away everything from him in the name of struggle. The huge syllabi of the university, the fear of failing in the examination, and the pain of living away from his girlfriend made him completely inert about life. After 2001 his life was complete anathema to his childhood and teenage self. However, he was surviving in a way or other. The cinema institute gave some breathing space though. But it was very little compared to his childhood. So he was imagining an encounter with a girl of his type.

198. THE POEM ‘FIRE’

The fire is inside me, the fire is my spell.

I feel like playing with the fire.

I have waves of joy in my smile, light in my eyes.

The body is full of mind blowing warmth.

That’s why I am arrogant, I don’t care.

With hard feet I trample on the old.

Who will stop me; let me hear who will stop me?

The dream is calling me from the sky.

That’s why I walk ahead without looking back.

Let the free mind rush to me seeing me there.

I’ll no longer keep anything hidden in my heart.

Like a kite I’ll shout underneath the blue.

199. FANTASY OF ‘FIRE’

Again this was a poem written by him on her behalf and thus for all young adolescent girls, who wanted to shout out and show off. It happened in the puberty. The nascent sexuality drove young girls toward attention. Some of them became attention seekers. This poem just described their mentality at a glance. Her girlfriend was also one of them. As described before she fled with a handsome guy to explore her sexuality as she probably did not get it from him. But later her family managed to bring her back to normalcy. He felt jealous obviously. But later he realised that she expected something from him, which he did not understand. He would realise it much later, when he grew up and there was distance between them. But anyway this was a real story. So she would not wait in reality. And he would keep on struggling for a better job. And both of them would part away in the course of time. Neither was it a fairy tale nor were the cheap movies that she loved to watch. So in reality she might get a happy family. But he would not get it so easily.

200. THE POEM ‘I’LL BE PRIMEVAL’

I’ll be primeval, I’ll be mad, I’ll be savage today.

Under the moon in the silent night take away my attire.

I’ll roll on the grass; I’ll sink into the blue water.

I’ll only call you forgetting all staffs.

The sound of falling leaves, the obscure darkness-

Only you and I and our bond of the warmth

Will bring in the ultimate moment and the night of limitless joy.

The calm mind will be unstable and the unstable will become mad.

The moonbeam will fall on the wet body time and again.

With the touch of joy, suave light, it’ll bind the body.

That body will remain waiting for you.

With its nude touch your heart will be filled with joy.

I can’t wait anymore, please come close to me

With heart, mind, body in make-upless make-up.

201. FANTASY OF ‘I’LL BE PRIMEVAL’

This was again a poem that showed his love for the nature. The primal life of human civilization was attracting him. He wanted to run away from the daily life. He wanted her touch. So he was imagining the pure beauty under the sky and into the blue. The moonlit night attracted him. The green grass attracted him. With all these he was creating a space where the pure love would happen. He wanted to cherish the feelings of heart and body together. So he was offering her his pure nudity. Now it was time for her to come close with her primal charm.

202. THE POEM ‘WITH THE DREAM’

I’m the soma-hearted, soma-minded, soma- meditating yogi –

The consumer of heart, soul, soma and dream.

My joy lies in consuming the heart in addition with soma.

Where to get a space for mind and the day-night of the joy.

Dreaming a lot, travelling more, I’ve come in the end.

Time and again I’ve fallen in love with the soul and soma.

Yet, where it gets stuck with what nobody knows.

Everywhere the shyness drags me behind.

The dreamy-dense-diffracted mind comes down suddenly

Smeared with the dissatisfaction of heavenly wild joy.

Yet, the mind does not hear, don’t know why, can’t get it properly.

Only I fill my empty heart with the dream.

203. FANTASY OF ‘WITH THE DREAM’

He was totally driven by materialistic philosophy. So he was mocking at the so called spirituality that was nothing but an illusion to get rid of the real desire. He simply thought that if he had desire, he should have worked to achieve it. But the norms of the society were stopping him from achieving that. The illusion of spiritual philosophies was nothing but redundant garbage of the society since no man could ever claim that he never masturbated. So this was where the soul and soma were related. So he wanted to give a damn to yoga, meditation and other methods that prepare the mind not to achieve the desire. He felt that his mind should have worked toward the desire. To him it was all fine until he was not hurting anyone. Having sex was not a taboo for him; of course it had to be consensual. But old monks of the society did not understand it. He believed in playing games, doing physical exercises but yoga. So he was calling him a soma-meditating yogi, which was an oxymoron phrase indeed. He was mocking at the idea of meditation and yoga, indeed.

204. THE POEM ‘WARMTH’

What starts with seeing, becomes ultimate with friction.

So every mind lives the life while the body burns.

Urban, rustic, wild, civilized get fused in the same joy.

Without warmth living is not possible for this life.

It’s beyond-beauty illusion, a unique sensation.

To express it in words is simply a mad’s job.

With the touch between the bodies, it gets aroused.

It makes the weary body wet in warm love sap.

In birth, thought, dream, sleep the silent warmth

Arouse the eagerness to live time and again.

At spring night on the bed in primal fusion

The warmth writes the bond with flawless rules.

So,

Why to live with machines, spells and cults

Only if you get fused in joy, you’ll understand.

205. FANTASY OF ‘WARMTH’

After writing so many poems about sexuality, now he was feeling that it could never be expressed in words. So the puberty driven sexuality was telling him that there was nothing more important than to have sex at a spring night. And all the people, be it rustic or urban, could never escape this enigma of desire. That was simply mind blowing to experience sex. But it was again not possible for the norms of the society. So he was writing this poem.

206. THE POEM ‘BODY’

In the eyeballs there’s the well adorned thunder spark.

In the lips there’s the instigation of happiness.

On the shaved cheeks there’s the assurance of softness.

To fill it with happiness, the warmth is calling.

In the high and wide shoulders, there’s the wave of peace.

On the upper body with the muscles the dream talks.

On the two chests the lungs move up and down.

Afterward there’s the wavelike smooth desire.

Within this there’s an immobile silent hole.

Its soundless call is severely savage.

With limitless addiction the thin waist is bound.

In the shameless lower part there’s the enigma of hips.

The call of fire-spring by the valor with the infallible supernatural

Is staying all alone at the same place silently.

With a little touch of warmth it wakes up.

And the impatient woman gets the sheer thrill.

Along the healthy thigh, the beauty of muscles -

To touch them the fairy is always eager.

So, in severe heat at the call of fire, the eyeballs are stable.

The heaven of joy, where will you flee without touching it?

207. FANTASY OF ‘BODY’

This was again a poem he was writing on behalf of his girlfriend. He wanted to explore her fantasy. Thus he was writing a description of the body of a man. He was now delving into the fantasy of a woman. This poem was about how girls want to see a man. It was an abstract poem about the body of a man. That was quite interesting for him. It started with his girlfriend’s psychology. But the poem became universal. One might recall the Vitruvian man of Da Vinci. But he wrote it in his puberty much before knowing about the Vitruvian man. In fact it was an abstract poem, not as direct an approach as Leonardo drew it. However, critics could say anything. But he wrote it to explore the fantasy of his girlfriend. Later he would also write about the body of a woman.

208. THE PHONE CALL

The weather was sunny here. He was busy writing the draft. After finishing the poem ‘Body’, he took a bath. Then he prepared the breakfast and had it with coffee.

He did not expect it. But Stella phoned him.

- Hi

- Good morning.

- Good evening.

- What’s up?

- Working on the draft.

- That’s great.

- Actually I’m impatient to read it.

- Wait for a few more days.

- Okay.

- Actually this section was tougher than the ‘Grey Diary’.

- I know.

- How do you know?

- My translator told me that.

- Yes. So it’ll take some time.

- Okay.

- What’s happening in California?

- Nothing new, situation is quite complicated now.

- Why?

- Because of lockdown.

- Yes that I know. But is there any new development?

- Yes, each and every person is being tested here.

- That’s nice.

- Yes. But life is getting boring.

- Yes true. Don’t worry, everything will be alright soon.

- Hope so. What’s happening in India?

- Home ministry relaxed the lockdown from today.

- That’s great. So you can shop now.

- Yes, but not at malls.

- Okay.

- Yes, only the local shops will be open with restrictions.

- That’s nice.

- Yes, I’ll go for shopping soon.

- You should.

- Yes.

- Could you please send me the draft?

- Yes, but the ‘uncovered’ section has not been completed yet.

- Don’t worry. Take some rest. I’m feeling bored in here.

- Okay. I’ll send it soon.

- Just send it now. I am crazy to know about your explicit fantasies (smile).

- Okay. As you wish.

- Okay. I’ll get back to you soon after reading the draft.

- Okay.

- Till then you take rest.

- Okay.

- Good night.

- Bye.

Stella cut the line. He sent the draft to her. After two days, she phoned him in the morning.

- Hi

- Yes, I was just awaiting your call.

- I know.

- Have you read it?

- Yes, it’s fantastic. I just loved it. You really have the guts.

- Thanks.

- It’s gonna be a path breaking work, I’m telling you.

- I always try to be unique.

- I know your life is unique.

- Are you going to make a movie out of it?

- Yes that’s the real purpose.

- That’ll be great.

- And you will act in this movie.

- I’ll decide that.

- No I insist.

- But I’m fat and bald now.

- Don’t worry. Try to reduce your weight and rest of the things could be worked out.

- It’ll not look realistic.

- It’ll.

- Okay. Who will direct the movie then?

- You.

- How is it possible?

- You know better than me.

- Okay, I’ll devise a plan since you insist.

- That’s better.

- Okay.

- But finish the draft first.

- Yes, that has to be done at any cost.

- Cost is my headache. You just keep working on it.

- Okay, thanks.

- How is your family?

- All good.

- Nice.

- Good night.

- Bye.

209. THE POEM ‘FAIRY TALES’

These norms rules bonds appear to be intolerable.

Whatever we want, we’ll do. We have no restraint, fear.

If I wish I will fly in the sky.

If we wish we will get fused secretly.

Wish is natural to me and the blood is mad.

I’ll write the fairy tales of life anew.

210. FANTASY OF ‘FAIRY TALES’

This was again a poem about his hidden desire. He wanted to run away with her in a secret place and have sex. But he was restrained by the society. He was predicting that he would write the fairy tales anew since the fairy tales that people read so far did not have a realistic approach. They were simply full of fantasies to become princess and prince. But the conclusion of these fairy tales was always a happy ending, which was quite against the real life. Actually he was predicting that he would write Orange sooner or later. That’s the fairy tale of today.

211. THE POEM ‘IN SCANTY ATTIRE’

On the nude body a little darkness and littlest clothes –

Today, the definition of beauty is in the mould of mini and micro.

Anew, in new make-up, in new fun

The primal joy smiles through the scanty attire.

The blue sky, wild green, or the colour of fire,

Whatever the styles of the designer’s smart cut,

It’ll hit the market with success with its appeal.

Ah, in the scanty cloth there lies the pure happiness.

Scanty dress, scanty shape, but yet not scanty.

On the breast it takes care of the fire of illusion.

Sometimes it’s mysterious, sometimes it’s mad.

Looking at a glance, the heart gets mad.

When the cleavage between soft joys start on warm breast,

It binds him suddenly midway –

The duo joys get more and more mysterious,

The mad heart with eager eyes sees without speech.

If it drops from the shoulder a bit,

If the cloth moves a little bit on the soft breasts,

Forgetting the argument, brawl, huff, esteem

Beggars, pseudos, honests, dishonests – all rush in.

In the night in solitary room, with you my love,

While diving into the ocean of love I also wish that

In arm-amunition-clotheless scanty attire,

Let me see you at a happy night sitting by there.

212. FANTASY OF ‘IN SCANTY ATTIRE’

This was a fantasy that every man had. He was a voracious reader. He used to read anything that was there in front of him. He used to collect the sensual photos of celebrities from news papers and magazines. He had a diary, where he used to paste them. In this poem he was discarding the idea of pornography by Picaso, since he was getting pleasure out of watching the celebrities in scanty attires. So now his young mind was being crazy to see his girlfriend in scanty attire. It was just an ordinary fantasy that every young man had. Later he would realise that it was not an easy task to make a good pornography though since sex was a transient in the average daily routine of life. So it was certainly not easy to deal with the transient and make a good piece of cinema out of it so easily. There was a huge chance to get shocked by the transient. However, he wanted to see his girlfriend in scanty attire.

213. THE POEM ‘HOT AND SOFT’

Hot hot wish of

Soft soft youth –

With this there is the unsaid

Heart’s beating.

The bodyful of sparks

Look for heap of explosives.

In the wait of explosion

The heart is silent.

The pure explosion

Has no fear of sin.

In the warm river

Let the tide and forbidden

Storm come.

214. FANTASY OF ‘HOT AND SOFT’

He was feeling the urge again. So he was awaiting an explosion. It was his desire to have sex with his girlfriend that was getting stopped time and again because of the norms of the society. So he was simply comparing his urge with the sparks and the ecstasy with the explosion.

215. THE POEM ‘MAKE-UP TALK’

Flying the hair, arrogant, trembling the red lips

I walk the way I want. The flood of the youth

Flows on the soft body with the warmth.

Looking at that thousand eyes talk about me.

At waist the jeans stops after a slip,

After the showy top the navel peeps through.

I walk with firm steps like a horse.

After every step there is the smooth soil beneath.

Swinging the clothes, I walk with a different gait,

When I wear sari, see-through, of the colour of my wish.

The colour of shoes matches with the transparent sari.

The obscure body comes up at the night of joy.

On Saturday at calm night nobody can stop me.

Just below the waist slipping a bit the make-up ends.

On smooth thighs there comes the flood of soft light.

I dance leaving all the senses of holiness or sin.

On the sea-shore, when I run in dremolluison,

I flaunt all my beauty behind the touch of a bikini.

I play with my love in the water of sun set.

I become unstable, when the night arrives.

Ultimate, soft and hot, the attires of my night –

I put make-up on my darling as I want to do.

After that the creator knows what the state of my love is.

My beauty is the result of curd, sandal and cucumber.

Eye liner, mascara, body lotion,

Lipstick, massage oil, foundation,

With all these I have my world amidst the family works

I always look for a better self as I want.

216. FANTASY OF ‘MAKE-UP TALK’

Again this was a poem written on behalf of her girl friend. He belonged to a middle class family. She belonged to a middle class family. And both of them have fantasies that were discussed so far. Now he was writing the fantasy of her girlfriend about make-up. Every girl liked to wear make-up as her girlfriend did. So he wanted to write poem regarding all the young girls, who loved to feel a bit arrogant, a bit confident after wearing the make-up. This poem was basically a result of reading the section, where the tips about how to look better used to be published, of a typical commercial news paper as he was facing problems with pimples. His acnes made him worried about his look. He did not understand that was quite natural in puberty especially for the boys and girls with oily skins. So he started reading about cosmetic and herbal treatments for skin along with fashion. Thus this poem came into play.

217. THE POEM ‘SOMA’

Those enchanting eyes are filled with dreams.

The blood red lips are smeared with cry and smile.

Stable voice, sweet tune, suave soft body –

Even in the dream, seeing them the mind wants to rush in.

About those stormy breasts, what’s the mystery?

Thinking that time passes, there is no laziness.

The hot-soft-mango-like frozen two joys –

With touch, love, beauty they fulfill the desire of a man.

In the land of light, the soft suave plane

Has got the mine of beauty along the space.

In the waist there flows the stream of thin river.

With the touch of it the sagacity of the old becomes silent and immobile.

The fire lies there within the mysterious chasm.

Along the mind and heart from body to body it binds the society.

For the trembling thighs and the weight of the hips

Ages after ages the mankind feels febrile.

The soft, supple, wet, suave, light danger -

With this rhyme the limbs of her are kept in order.

218. FANTASY OF ‘SOMA’

After the poem ‘Body’, he was now describing the female body, achieving what is his fantasy, of her girlfriend. So as a result he was writing this poem on behalf of the race of men, who always dreams to have sex with a perfect female body. This was an abstract description of a female body. He was also warning that if one delves too much into the soma of a woman, it might become fatal. But nothing wrong in writing poems about her, painting her picture, marrying her or even having sex with her in case it was consensual. Everything is okay. But it could be dangerous to handle a bimbo. That’s all what he wanted to say.

219. THE POEM ‘AT THE NIGHT OF JOY’

Let all the sorrows go away

At the night of joy.

Let the rain fall along the body

Now and today.

Let it soak all the limbs

Of yours and mine.

With the wet make-up

We’ll mate.

The night will wake up.

220. FANTASY OF ‘AT THE NIGHT OF JOY’

This was again a dream to mate with his girlfriend in a rainy day. He was trying to conceive a perfect place an environment for their sex to happen. But he could not do it since he was an introvert in nature. He could write pages after pages, but he could not tell his girlfriend that he wanted to have it with her. He was often very unsure about the conclusion of their love as fairy tales did not exist in reality. He could not remember exactly when he wrote the poem. But it was still showing that he was feeling upset. Whenever he was upset, he would write something to cheer him up. Thus he wanted to create a space and time that would be conducive to their mating.

To be continued ...

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