Dibyendu's WallScript

Restless am I, forsaken—none beside me, through endless night and ceaseless day. A relentless anguish, in a solitary life, weakens the trembling heart.   Sin itself is God, and this curse abides within my soul. For man’s greater need there was no true need of man.   And yet there was childhood, there was feeling, there were the burdens of justice, the austere call of truth and duty, the rights of faith, the flame of love. Man’s virile path lay straight and narrow— but now estrangement, disbelief, and tyranny without conscience have entered, and on the road toward destiny sin has laid its ambush. So many sins— civilization’s curse. And Gautama weeps in the agony of the dying.   From my rifle leapt the bullet— I ran, to be certain: Had it struck? Had it killed? And when the prey was pierced, the cry of triumph rose, and I returned to the tumult of the crowd.   But then— the day gave way to day, and the bullet, in its opposite flight, returned, piercing me. The body fel...

It goes, it drifts away, wherever the two eyes long to wander, there follows the mind.   Visions within the inner chamber count the mist of futures, yet all that is precious— nothing remains behind.   Far away, the white peaks of mountains, the waves upon the level sea, the unknown yet beautiful earth abides, eternal in its disguise.   It goes, it drifts away, wherever imagination dares to wander, there follows the mind.   Far away it journeys, yet sight sometimes returns, to the hidden chamber where the body dwells, in sweat, in blood, in refuse; where aesthetics of beauty creep by stealth into the marbled chambers of pain. Today survives beneath tomorrow’s haste.   The return of imagination is never straight; a tale must be told to it again and again— and in that faith, like a migratory bird, it shall one day set forth upon the vision’s path, rushing into the unknown beauty of earth, where the reality of existence is none but survival itself: day by day, in si...