Here’s a poem of unrest and protest by Mamta.
A Narrator Spasming within Saturated with bored, desiccated life Loses control Over his characters Is he a Czar? Why should he view their world As a crowned head? If they want to seduce or be seduced They will; They are not sidekicks They champion their own stories Laughing over his expectations To treat them like clay pigeons Shooting them at will They will make their own trajectories Their own pathways Their own entanglements With their high energy fix They create turbulence Making him stuffy Dyspeptic Sedentary Bi-polar The narrator looks around for his stun guns And the charade goes on....
Picture design Anumita Roy, Different Truths