ananda majumder

Roaring sky, baby clouds gather around, as construed in old text
Sod is wet; life of grapes returns back, enliven yet to be;
Bungalow is awaiting char in sunglow
Bequeathed from Babur to Ananda, unmindful dream, hilariously delusional
...

Brittle brides, doves delinking winds
Delicate facets of rose, other side of mirror
Spoiling niche, this is end of “ Cruel April”
Prolonged directory of killers, dictum demurred
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The sky is Kabul isn’t always blue
Seemingly a texture of text, yet to be descended down
Love is always the synthesized ablution
Like saga tested in annihilative iteration
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Love with Dew: Typology

In the dawn, dews are having deleterious effect
Millions of cosmic spirituality is changing our consciousness
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Sleep thronged
Accumulated pains disappearing
Trauma is in somber
Fringing
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Desideratum of love is essentially being loved up;
In a pink autumn, defoliation takes me far to feel
Dropping nerves, uncharted piloting of bird
Last battle with life, tantamount to demise, deeply divine
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