‘Syllable Syllabi’ by Boudhayan Nag – The Power of Poetry

We’re excited to publish this poem by Boudhayan Nag from the School of Law – Centre for Commercial Law Studies.

About Boudhayan: “If I had to, I’d describe myself as a pretentious wordsmith in search of the next surrealist checkpoint under the hand embroidered patterns in my head.”

Syllable Syllabi 

 Every fourteen years 
 the world changes
 The beginning or end of the time period,
 irrelevant
 It is merely the length of an era
 A span of childhood
 Some people remain children forever
 others grow up before the seventh summer of their lives
 What is the distance between your past and present?
 Asks the meta-matician tasked with teaching me the eons
 The singular tune of a songbird is only half of all music
 The other rests on the shoulders
 Of a card-carrying Kapellmeister 
 I deal in nomenclature
 When words lose their meaning
 I stand over their graves watching, 
 waiting for a new beginning
 The beauty of definition
 is that it cannot lie
 For in its depths,
 it carries the heart of the word
 The first feature film to be shot on mars 
 required actors to wear anti-gravity boots
 so, they didn’t shoot off frame every day. 
 I only took care of makeup
 Underneath their helmet
 they were on a Parisian catwalk
 No atmospheric pressure, 
 just the collected calm of forever around them
 The last time I drifted out to sea
 we spacewalked to the edge of the world
 When we fell right off
 the last thing I saw was the blush on her cheek
 I want to live in a world 
 where metal has no meaning
 Liquid gold is coffee 
 on the rocks 
 Below us a decompressed spinal cord
 waves its tail at our surgical incompetence
 No one wants to be a caffeinated beverage
 And yet we are all a means to an end
 The final rush of blood 
 to stick to a deadline 
 derived from the discovery
 of a Moroccan Sufi mystic
 How can you survive in a world,
 where doing right is wrong 
 most days of the week
 We cannot break
 through the tradition of fear
 without a little indifference 
 I was trained in a Platonic cave
 The superhero of revenge 
 stuck in an allegorical epileptic fit
 governed by a candlestick pattern.
  
 Boudhayan  

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