Who doesn’t love to be an outsider among the many idiosyncratic whole. The whole evolves through the outside. I played it more than millions. Ad jockeying through the bon jour street, morning to evening. Solipcisistic curves prove the point of non-merging of self with the other. Raven down the speedy lane, dies like evening go-getter. Death as gift of unsolved rhymes. I have forgone the death virtuality. To live among the anonymity of crowd pull hash stricken droopy evening neon. Time span escalates. Love is admonished for the hunger of street hopping. Evening birds fly back for daily off-stricken homely nestling of solitude wholesome. Life reckons the by passers short circuit evolvement. In my droopy eyes, time span is enlarged, so the bifurcation between space and timeized zone gets clearer. Body evolves through miniscule 4th dimension, the body-matter, though in a ratio of same with space bifurcation of zonal planetary being. Life admonishes the break through. I walk past the ratio. How big the solarity was! Now I am big, now I am small. Morbid fecundity of street zone umpire as the third eye. Many resolve the many. Not at one, yet in oneness with the street. Solar elliptical symbiosis. Crowd pull of generational gap. Young lovers hand in hand! Wow, what a shit. Old heck getting disturbed by the young ones. Law abiding citizen against the kissing forum. Stoned to the core, I play truant from both. Lovers lost paradise finds home in citizenry of street lovers calculative love-effect sign zone of elliptical human authority. Mercy for me, the zonal truant. Sultry summer evening of Southern Globality. I broke some breakages. Southern exists elsewhere, in the Gorilla’s bar, Mexico City of Amsterdam’s sinful solitary arguments. I got a few paisa from family stagecraft. Singularity prevails in the autonomous zone of scribing the zones of exasperation. Life favours a few. We existed, through the international zoning of writing, admonishing the differential axiom of Ariatic. Truants prove the point. Not in merger with the area, and globality erupts in International. Not in Rio yet, by passers forgive.

Jeet Bhattacharya
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