Running in Circles: Making Ends Meet

By Mamta Prasad

A story for the love of words and what it does. Accompanies your midnight musings with the crickets coming alive as the string quartet and the stars align to perform circus theatrics.The war in your silence and the martyr to your thoughts. Coming of age when everything's constantly changing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing India
• Release date: Mar 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781482851175

Mamta Prasad

She asked about what happens after death at the age of three. She loves the sky and the moon. She paints when she doesn't have words. Listens to music in murmurations and draws ripples in water. She loves walking and staring at rustling leaves and birds swooning in the breeze.She hibernates often and makes faces at children on the street. She is a good human and loves to share her hand puppets and makes animal and bird sounds more than talking.Aspiring monk who wants a piece of peace.

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Copyright © 2016 Mamta Prasad. All rights reserved.

ISBN

978-1-4828-5118-2 (sc)

978-1-4828-5117-5 (e)

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

www.partridgepublishing.com/india

03/09/2016

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Table of Contents

Proem

Atmam Buddha

Anomaly.

Index

Purple Stains – 2007 - 2009

The Wisdom of a Derelict

Beauty The Beast.

Rudra - 2007

Durga. 2007

Princess Purple Stains

Flower, Child, Smile – perfect alliterative style.

Infertile Widow. – May 2008

Lesser Mortal.

Tatha

Vivid Incantations

Heart Shaped Box

Meander.

My Hibiscrysanthemum

Lullaby

i loved a man.

Supermoon

Harlequin of Desire.

The Voyeur of Seasons and Spices of Romance.

The OutBurst Of Black – June 2008

Desirotopia

Universe

Warhol’s Rorschach – finger and sponge on paper

Poker

Fingers and pastes with acrylic on canvas.

The Artist – March 2008

The Blues

Loving Eating – Cookme Chornicles

Come Undone

Unloved Song.

Sitting beside, Self Portrait.

The melancholy of Romance.

Sarabande.

The Song of Loss.

Whirlwinds and there after.

What happens to Loneliness.

Romeo and Juliet.

Come Home.

Photograph of a Claustrophobic Cigarette.

Kill me.

Decadence

Change in Chance

Choices

Habromaniac Humor

Bittersweet

Back and Forth.

Part and Parcel.

Mullah and Moon birth.

Sometimes Blues

My Monsters.

Butterflies and Hurricanes.

Beyond the Hills

Compliance

Flowers by the Grave

I wanted

Hippies and Hermits

Pithetic Epigrams

Self Portrait .

Colorfooled

Big Bang

Charlie’s Day Out

Enlightenment

Flitting through the Atmosphere

Incarnation

Fida ka Ghoda

Meandering through the Core

Messages from the Flowers

Peace offering to Pollock

Phantasmagoria

Ravenous Hearts

Running in Circles.

Synapses in Monsoon

The Forest is dense

Leafing Frog

The Mendicant

- The Muse and the Mirage

the womb of birth

Topographical Codes

Vagina Monologues

Ode to Matters

The Universe in a Nutshell

Neuroscience and Parchment Flowerink

Intel in Italics

Illegal Damnations

Tense

The Soldier

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Thanks to Tatha for being a friend and a brother.

For teaching me being one is better than being another.

Gopu for the whistles and time.

Raju for words and rhymes.

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Mamta Prasad: Poet, moon lover, old school.

Education : Multiple career fantasies and pressing failed dream to retire before high school. Dropped out of Literature, Economics and Film at college level.

Good student when not a truant and wants a PHD in Linguistics and Ethnomusicology with a minor in demograpathogenic theatrics and risk economics. A couple certificates in toll and taxes and government utility versus politicodemocrat dispensability. Mastery in metaphysicality of artificial intelligence and robo-cybernetics. With of course a house of instruments and animals of the non homo sapien kind. A zen garden for healing and glass house for herbs with a bubbly brooke and a cathedral at walking distance.

Proem

Everywhere I go I find a poet has been there before me.

- Sigmund Freud

The founding father of psychoanalysis has quiet aptly included the abstract intelligence of poets world over. In today’s day and time when we don’t have the time for ourselves and are trying to make something out of us and ace the rat race, poetry is a breath of fresh air and waiting to smell back the flowers.

The etymology of psychology literally means the study of the soul. And poet’s can be subtly called soul whisperers. They gather the secrets dispersed in the air and present what science is yet to prove. Forgive my arrogance but inventions and discoveries are states of being and mind and matter but now let’s come to chatter.

I have spent about twenty three years in this physical plane. And I call it so because the body must return to its natural state.

The brain can only facilitate. I try not to rhyme as much as I can but