An old drunk man told me
Life was like water, if you pushed it too much
it flooded everything.
As I was lying down semiconscious,
moonlight flowed through the window, cleaved
by the glass--and in that glow
I saw two souls bleeding, fighting
transforming into demons.
"He won't remember anything"
the doctor said; but I did remember the wounds.
The pleasures were lost, but the pain remained
and I, Sisyphus-esque,
tried to reject the bright nights and love-filled worlds
only to fail, only to
Suvojit Banerjee has seen twenty seven summers, but he doesn't remember all of them; his existence is torn between the suburbs in West Bengal he grew up in, and the city called Kolkata he now lives in. The city adorns many masks, and so does he, while roaming around its streets with the eyes as a journal and his soul as a pen. He is searching for answers in this surreal yet slimy maze, but the questions keep on changing every time.