It was a cauldron of belief, nevertheless a silence,
It took a long flight on the chariot of Beauvoir’s theory,
The theory of existentialism is forthright false and premature
The tea cup on the balcony stilt has more wisdom than Rembrandt
It was merely floating in the hope of extreme abstinence
Mr Roy’s Elmira had the mirage of a sexist sore
The sore that for ages had drowned in the phallus,
The cubicles retarded to the foetus
Olga’s desire to soothe the rampage, had nothing but precocious foreplay.
The melodrama’s still on with furor
The things still floating in the labia minora.
Latest posts by Ayan Deb (see all)
- The Melodrama of Abstinence - September 15, 2014
- Jamini Roy, resides, all around us - May 11, 2014
- How do we distinguish between aesthetic analysis and investigating the cultural context of works of art? - May 1, 2014