I’d like to write a Love Letter
To the act of writing herself
If I’m alive now, then I was dead
When I didn’t write, it’s Skyward again


With unbothered Golden Sun
The blueness of the stars is my
Final muse, the magic of the music
It’s not easy to state the changes
Internal, apprehending language
Is a habit of association that didn’t convince me


My spirit craved something more
Than duality and dull metaphors
So I soul-shifted into the gear of silence
For a Silver Breath, and it’s a gift
To be writing again, Love Letters as always
To a world, I didn’t always know


What to make of it, tragedy unfolded
In months of boiling water and multiplication
Tables, how the worlds counts her profit
I knew I didn’t want to exist in a vulgar way


My most prominent objects were inside
Subjective, I was like the last romantic
Of a generation, giving free-feeling a fair hearing
Without conforming to some drab pragmatism
Just yet, pretending I was a spiritual guest
In a colourful experimental world, language
Could suffice, at least as a tentative medium.

Photo Courtesy:

8 thoughts on “THE LAST ROMANTIC

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s