She closed the shutters, returned home, and pranced on the bed, only to be flooded with the light that lies beneath the closed shutters of her eyes.
The book amasses the heaps that otherwise piles up in the forlorn corners in a mans life. It tries to present an otherwise pale countenance of the random drawings on the walls of a dreamer, an idealist. Written in the ink of reverie, dont be confused if the script wanders, for it is directed by a mind that, far away from the protocols, wanders freely. The book offers nothing new, yet it provides the feelings that we discard in the logical scheme. Its just a collection of the words that one experiences during ones journey.
The contents of the book represent the many layers of the layered mind.
Though written in grey, it presents a colorful image of the multidimensional complex that drives our life: the mind.
A vivid countenance inside a livid life, thats what this book represents.
O autorze
Dhruv Sharma is an addict, for poetry is his cigarette. Often, trying hard to find his place in the social jungle, he returns to his cave and draws those dark murals on the inner walls of the cavern of which he’s a troglodyte. And he paints, and he paints.
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