My name is Shibaji and I’ve been into Poetry for about a
decade mostly reading, sometimes fixing manuscripts while
hoping to get published. I’m also a synesthetic and
confused about ethics.
on birthdays I over-think, about your enthusiasm and touching upon the furthest end of being formless I ponder, mother what it felt to think before self-knowing, in that mediated dreamscape. was it…...
when the dry season is close to over in the village over the turn-bridge, the papaya trees bear flowers in white and the young pale shoots of bamboo loom over the uthan. when the dry season is clos…...
twisted in kind agony, awash in hurried beats – I escaped walls to lectures on how to stand knee deep in antiquity, waiting for love to plumb, make whiny. we’re all merry, enough –…...
you understand the ying, is something furious underneath a porous tension of outwardly peace that, -is blue with undying anxiety. you keep calling in the language of froth, and awe gurgling tastele…...