Dibyendu's WallScript

Solitude is my only love— it writes itself without commas or semicolons. I turn leaf-green in the morning wind, lay my head in its quiet lap. Light and pain walk through my mind, yet I have set them aside— steadfast till the end. Death, in its final arithmetic, has brought a dream to my door— a holy love, gentle enough to sit beside my silence. The sky leans down, offering its hand in tenderness. I have wandered along the pavements of hell, where a lonely child wept. I placed my palm on the cool brow of conscience. In the vow of pure truth I have asked, quietly— how far can a burden carry a soul? Beyond the reach of villages, the foxes will call again and again. Crickets will thread their songs through the night. In my courtyard, new blossoms open, and I rise awake in the absorbed darkness, as the world quivers with sudden joy. In the staged rooms of high apartments an old man sits— half-lit, half-shadow, a prisoner without chains, the cold nearness of steel a...

Upon the earthen floor, in the north-east’s sombre keep, Weeps a shadow-dark enchantress; the day lies lightless, deep; A mountain vast of knowledge looms, yet clad in shadow’s veil, Her form—a sodden, formless thing, as chasms grim and pale. She wore a garland wrought of palash bloom, where many a tale did twine; A plateau of silken cocoons beneath her heavy feet did shine; The naked shape of womanhood was painted in man’s hue— Yet simple was her spirit’s stream, from some strange, unknown crew. The ample-bosomed Night of dark did dance upon her skin; Her years lay far, like leagues away; the noontide waned within; And some bold soul, untimely stirred, might dare to gaze again— At such a form, in such an hour, so full of secret pain. By the roadside, in the stone-bound earth, gold blossoms upward press; Her eyes seemed not a maiden’s eyes; her lips in guardedness; The meadows stood with ripened grain; the farmers sang their lay; But locust swarms, at midnight’s hush, fell ...