The Rhythmic Progression

A maddening music of the mist
dispersed
spread like dreams
of a child
knew nothing but his gifts
wrapped in golden ribbons
on his birthdays
celebrated annually 
every week or so
with vacuum-filled balloons
and only two invitees -
one, a solemn clown
another, a multitude of guests
all rumored to be lost
together
went waltzing, like a breeze
into
a maddening music of the mist
that was
                           #
a nightmare 
wrapped in golden ribbons
for a child
realizing
music is a window
has two sides to it
each side darker than the other
and choosing sides is an option
you cannot choose
not to repeat
until
the maddening music of mists
stops
and you realize
you were the nightmare
wrapped in golden ribbons
dreamt by the solemn clown
invited 
in your birthday bash
celebrated annually
every evening after dark
you kept turning hundred
there.
                              #
Here.

                            *END*

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Abhishek Sengupta is imaginary. Mostly, people would want to believe that he writes fiction & poetry, which borders on Surrealism and Magical Realism, and is stuck inside a window in Kolkata, India, but he knows none of it is true. He doesn’t exist. Only his imaginary writing does, and has appeared or is forthcoming in Sheepshead Review, Sonic Boom, MidnightCircus, and Literary Heist. If you’re gifted, you may also imagine him in Twitter @AbhishekSWrites.

Website: https://abhishek-sengupta.com

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