Shut in a plane, looking for an angel.
The morning skies of blue and white
With a psychadelic effect on the mind.
Empty art books getting filled with multi-coloured ink.
The thoughts into the depths of slumber sink.
Bright pens summoning the Muse
From a blankness that erases everything.
Genesis of meaningless tunes of tranquility.
The ecstasy when the nib touches the coarse whiteness
is freedom; like a puff of a cloud
Rising from nothingness
And falling into the seas of imagination-
An angel descends.
(On the plane from kolkotta to delhi, when i was looking out at the clouds and feeling all poetic. Well, from up high it was gorgeous... Written on the 25th of may 2008.)