Deviant Login Shop  Join deviantART for FREE Take the Tour
About Literature / Student Premium Member Arka Basu21/Male/United Kingdom Groups :iconcandidcritics: CandidCritics
 
Recent Activity
Deviant for 2 Years
2 Month Premium Membership
Statistics 197 Deviations 888 Comments 9,392 Pageviews

Sonnets

My sonnets are more introspective works, often with actual personal events embedded in their depths.

Have a read!

Newest Deviations

Favourites

Pulchra moriens te veniat.On a caliginous night, under the aphotic sky,
I lay beneath the arches of times gone by,
Below the spires and the facade of old,
I realized that time was every man's gold.
Pulchra moriens te veniat.
Somewhere beyond in a field of Four o Clocks,
She arose like a spirit, shimmering and pale,
Her silhouette, lithe, petite and frail,
Gleaming brilliantly to dispel the witching hour,
Her flowing sable gown swept through the grass,
Putting everything in it's path to eternal rest,
Her long dark hair glided down her back,
And became one with the night.
Pulchra moriens te veniat.
The bells chimed once, and the bells chimed twice,
As I reminisced many a virtue and vice,
My languid heart, my only friend,
The only thing that stays till the very end.
Pulchra moriens te veniat.
She sauntered across the marshes, ever so softly,
Her treads so tender, bent not a blade of grass,
A formidable aura of boundless strength,
Lay around her like an unwavering shield,
For the beasts and creatures of the night,
Pulchra moriens te veniat.On a caliginous night, under the aphotic sky,
I lay beneath the arches of times gone by,
Below the spires and the facade of old,
I realized that time was every man's gold.
Pulchra moriens te veniat.
Somewhere beyond in a field of Four o Clocks,
She arose like a spirit, shimmering and pale,
Her silhouette, lithe, petite and frail,
Gleaming brilliantly to dispel the witching hour,
Her flowing sable gown swept through the grass,
Putting everything in it's path to eternal rest,
Her long dark hair glided down her back,
And became one with the night.
Pulchra moriens te veniat.
The bells chimed once, and the bells chimed twice,
As I reminisced many a virtue and vice,
My languid heart, my only friend,
The only thing that stays till the very end.
Pulchra moriens te veniat.
She sauntered across the marshes, ever so softly,
Her treads so tender, bent not a blade of grass,
A formidable aura of boundless strength,
Lay around her like an unwavering shield,
For the beasts and creatures of the night,


If there ever were any misgivings about the critical condition of the thrashing, flailing, fated art of expression, tête-à-tête, the Pre Raphaelite angst was chronologically misplaced. Looking to the Romantics for inspiration, riding on their Arthurian bandwagon steered by the prophetic John Ruskin, while Christina Rossetti rode shotgun was all very grave post 1848, but the 21st century renders the artistic escapade almost carnivalesque. Any doubt with regard to the regression of the human conveyance of thought has been secretly loaded into the caboose of messages which await us incessantly on the other side of the mirror. So, the next time someone barks out, ‘the world has become a smaller place’, dog them into substantiating whose world and how before their malfeasance goes viral.   

Of course, everyone wants to talk, it’s the human denial of nonexistence that plants an impugnable seed that makes the individual confident that his or her words have a purpose and as the perpetual motion machine is a concrete idea, semantically speaking, speech engenders purpose. But just as human speech has travelled the lonely mile, it has shared a complicitious relationship with art, music, war and in recent times, technology. The implacable plethora of devices which serve to facilitate social intercourse have unfortunately administered such an extent of communicational placebo that the carcinoma of pseudo-communication has sustained a life of its own. The mere impact of infatuation that the user possesses for standing between a looking glass and a hand glass contributes to the creation of an exponential maelstrom of the same text, the same images and the same set of theories which rebound off a platform with hardly any friction. The internet, the holy mother of resource sharing has become a blaring, incongruent pot luck of a few flagrant opinions switching many hands like a penny, travelling the world without any expense, save time. Ironically, it is this very platform which is nurturing its own critique. The development of languages in the potpourri of svelte networking has resulted in the invention of the tentative abbreviations, slapdash art and little motivation towards any advancement in any value added interchange. Whether fallow brb saved anyone enough breath to complete a cursory will before the impending cardiac arrest or whether the Machiavellian smiley ever brought anyone fractionally closer to empathizing with another person’s chemicals in heat is hardly the point; the real question is in this dastardly discounted circumcision of the language was any progress even envisioned?

Tragically, the elegy of an arsenal of cell phones, tablets, computers and other ways to ‘reconnect’ with persons of interest concludes with a dolorous volta voicing an impotency to appreciate personal company. As we’re always together through our idiosyncratic Snapchat correspondences in pet shops or our Whatsapp billets-doux sitting by Powai lake, it is an indolent misery to meet someone once in a while. Where is the thirst for the dangling conversation – we practically scaled the Andes sometime in the last month, listened to the new releases of Korpiklaani a fortnight ago and hey, we’re screen siblings, we don’t need a rendezvous. More is the plaintiveness in making conversation, what was the constant single file beauty of letters across a flat screen – uniform, equally spaced and mediated – is now the eye’s adaption to the graceless motions of a face which lacks that disciplined delivery and the troughs and trials of a touch and go voice which is only too wary of pillory piranhas. The knock-down drag-out slaughter of the embellished self is momentary, the deception as the art becomes artifice lasts well into retrospection. In the end it is our enamel perfection in the armoire of graphic porcelain which eviscerates us; our revulsion towards our imperfections is as old and as rigid as deism. Occasionally, eschewing from the verity of private chagrin, the parley is light, joyous and ample with seasonal josh, but dedicated indulgence in the voyeurism of private lives leaves the reunion a little bare in terms of surprises, absolutions and the presence of good willed jubilation. It’s like rereading or having the fifth serving of prawn puttasenca, the constituents have not altered, the craving has settled. The cornucopia of reciprocation also advocates the ‘more is less’ abstraction. While I have five different ways of reaching the average friend, my choice of media is limited by word count, pixel checks, privacy barriers, professional civility and of course their continuance on the medium of my choice. Trying to swap between all of these totems of social supremacy, I get very meagre crumbs of information across such as a chipped toenail, two lines from a David Hall poem or a mawkish aspect of my CV. The obvious argument would meander towards an inefficient usage of all these means of communication which I haven’t mustered in my 21 years of existence. Agreed, but in my defence, these chariots of noncommittal ambivalence are all too new, getting newer every day, though proficient, will I ever reach peripheral proficiency? Instead, in the twenty one years of wandering the realms of privy experience, surely the pictures, the posts, the tweets and the shares are all raindrops that wash off the banyan tree to carry a sentient flavour of their former host; they do little to recompense its essence.

It is vain inertia which arises from the assurance that our last conversation was merely a week ago, it is the origin of a slow and steady root rot which will over the years recant all that binds a faction of minds. While it may pass for societal rectitude, unlike art which survives the artist, a message cannot outwear the messenger. The thespians will not perforate the sieve and our affections will not swaddle those who repudiate their ostentatious exertions at fostering good relations. Relationships are weaned on predilection and a certain tenacity which requires the old world idea of a face to face conversation, devoid of any media except the air we share. Much like any occupation whose accolades lie in the plane of commercial satiation, emotional salvation and an overall sense of being, communication takes vigour and a steadfastness which often escapes us in the course of our academic development. The undertaking is not gargantuan to an initiate, but distinction takes just as much perspiration as one’s professional moxie. An ascetic understanding takes degrees of failure, all of which span the massive mesic strata which divides the friendly from the friend. But you reap what you sow and this cultivation of communication is no different from the annals of any heritage of accomplishment. Sure, it means an hour dropped from a Napoleonic study schedule, leaving the sales meeting before everyone else and always appreciating that everyone else’s twenty fours are no shorter than yours. Yet, years and years hence, while others chaperone memories, you, embodying Shakespeare’s articulation of all that is spent, will possess ‘that which should accompany old age, as honour, love, obedience, troops of friends.’



Commissions

Commission for the Creation of Poetical Works
In dire need of an amorous sonnet? Wish to possess an elegy to commemorate someone who still has a significant part of you? Want a sequence of haikus for your bestie's birthday? It's all here for commission now! Drop me a note and we will talk about the specifics of the poem as well as the commission's production cycle. 

xx

Donate

Zark123 has started a donation pool!
36 / 20,000
I aspire to release an anthology of my poetry someday, but as I am still a student, I cannot afford the expenses involved. If you like my poems and would like to see them published sometime in the near future, feel free to donate as many points as you wish.

Your contribution shall not be forgotten, neither by me, nor in the book which shall bear memory of your kind generosity.

Thank You.

You must be logged in to donate.
  • :iconchandevi:
    Chandevi
    Donated Feb 17, 2013, 10:35:22 AM
    15
  • :iconchandevi:
    Chandevi
    Donated Feb 4, 2013, 4:51:11 PM
    10
  • :iconkrazzy4art:
    Krazzy4art
    Donated Nov 17, 2012, 8:46:40 PM
    11

Which topic brings out the best poetry in you? 

24%
12 deviants said Life
20%
10 deviants said Love
14%
7 deviants said Lonliness
14%
7 deviants said Death
14%
7 deviants said Heartbreak
4%
2 deviants said Nature
4%
2 deviants said Humor
4%
2 deviants said Honor
2%
1 deviant said Friendship
0%
No deviants said Vengeance

deviantID

Zark123's Profile Picture
Zark123
Arka Basu
Artist | Student | Literature
United Kingdom
Current Residence: Loughborough, UK
Favourite genre of music: Classic Rock
Favourite cartoon character: Shaggy (Scooby Doo)
Personal Quote: What's life without a merry tale, a bonnie song or paradisaical poem?
Interests

Flag Counter

free counters

Shoutbox

shehrozeameen:iconshehrozeameen:
... Stephen Fry... THE melchett stephen fry... the man who wrote that book about poetry Stephen Fry... V for Vendetta Stephen Fry...? YOU OWE ME THAT BOOK ONCE WE MEET!!!
Wed Jan 30, 2013, 1:05 PM
Zark123:iconzark123:
After reading The Ode Less Traveled by Stephen Fry, I just realized how little I know about poetry.
Sat May 19, 2012, 1:05 AM
Zark123:iconzark123:
Nope, not yet...
Sun Apr 8, 2012, 11:53 AM
Michel-le-fou:iconmichel-le-fou:
Do you understand french?
Sun Apr 8, 2012, 5:26 AM
Zark123:iconzark123:
What's was the best starting Pokemon?
Tue Mar 27, 2012, 11:41 AM
Nobody

Visitors

:iconayeaye12:
AyeAye12
Apr 16, 2014
1:16 pm
:iconshehrozeameen:
shehrozeameen
Apr 16, 2014
8:36 am
:iconthepickwicktwist:
ThePickwickTwist
Apr 14, 2014
3:55 am
:iconkosi11:
kosi11
Mar 26, 2014
11:22 am
:icondoidero:
Doidero
Mar 16, 2014
8:58 pm

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:icondrifter-dallyings:
drifter-dallyings Jan 12, 2014  Student General Artist
Sailing the seven seas Hello, dear! Your delightful work has been featured here: fav.me/d71wmh4. Have a lovely day!
Reply
:iconzark123:
Zark123 Jan 12, 2014  Student Writer
Thank you! :) much appreciated!

Reply
:icondrifter-dallyings:
drifter-dallyings Jan 12, 2014  Student General Artist
You're welcome! :la:
Reply
:iconsimplysilent:
:iconflyingheartsplz::iconhello1plz::iconhello2plz::iconflyingheartsplz:

Hey there! :giggle: You've been given a deviantART Compliment! :heart: :dummy:

Hope you have a wonderful day! :tighthug:
Reply
:iconzark123:
Zark123 Sep 25, 2013  Student Writer
Thank you for informing me =) I will check it out!
Reply
:iconthenandmshow:
thenandmshow Aug 28, 2013  Student Writer
Happy Birthday! :cake:
Reply
:iconpazlowq:
pazlowq Aug 28, 2013   Traditional Artist
Happy Birthday!
Reply
:iconchandevi:
Happy birthday dearie!!!!hope you enjoy it
Reply
:iconzark123:
Zark123 Aug 28, 2013  Student Writer
Thank you so much! =) I hope you are well!
Reply
:iconchandevi:
i am busy actually...ur most welcome
Reply
Add a Comment: