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*
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.