(Declaration by members of “The Fish that Climbed a Tree”)
(When an A-class novel’s characters spark into existence curious as to who it is that created them so beautifully that they can now through the eyes of a reader walk around with breathing lungs and pumping hearts)
This is a poem dedicated to author, Kevin Ansbro for writing a book so unforgettable!
“So similar we are!” exclaimed Henry, then muttering “this is not a prank!”
“After days of solitude and cheeks unkissed and dank,
I have finally found someone with whom I can be vehemently frank,”
Said I, “Who is that?”
“You!” said Henry, “But I’m afraid that my time in the book has expired.
Wiping myself clean of all your pen-ink I’m tired,
But I’m very gracious for the flight tickets to Agra that you have acquired,”
“So, if you find my dead parents revisiting Taj Mahal, could you please say ‘Hello’?
Or make memorable videos of their withdrawing afterglow?
In truth, however, my trip crosses India, impatience desiring my creator’s elbow.”
“I know the name of my creator,” Henry did pridefully declare.
“Kevin,” I said, “Yes! He tirelessly worked to introduce you into my stare.”
“Right! I read” Henry remarked, dismayed that my mind he had partly failed to ensnare.
“What is it”? I asked, blinking twice in confusion.
“What is it, you ask?” he said, surprised suddenly to a searing degree,
“Ma’am, tell me, wasn’t imprisonment the norm for a calligraphed little thing like me?
If yes, what has my creator been sprinkling on every page that, with your arrival, I was set free?”
“Numbed and stupefied,” he said, “with the way the blotches of ink sculpted me every moment of your contemplation,
I kinked to look at myself several times as his words emptied of themselves their genomes of birthing salvation,
I even gawked when I double-took Sebastian and grandma’s hug in nirvanic distinction, aside Bagheera’s unnoticed return from his permanent vacation.”
Henry continued, “Parting from the heritage of the immorality was sheer, unbearable pain,
Why? Because despite all degradation it carried the smells of my parental domain,
But I am still glad that you came along and yanked me past the paper’s fictional membrane.”
“It’s really him,” I slowly whispered sensing my face blush pink.
Then I shivered in uncontainable hysteria as the truth registered about my eyes,
I really was looking at my twin from Kevin’s unremitting mental paradise,
But the plight of the rest of his readers I suddenly felt horrified to surmise.
“They’re fine, Nilanjana,” said Henry, reading my mind with his imperishable sensibility.
“For my home is forever lain against the pages of every ‘The Fish That Climbed a Tree’
However, I was pushed to spark into existence in this hot spot of unshakable narration-reader compatibility,”
“And yes! I read your fearful mind with my tangible readability,
That, separating from this priceless emblem of a publication, you question its acceptability.
In Yuri and Pascal’s case, I even tried restricting their complete permeability.”
“But let me guide you a little bit!” Henry urged me, his gaze lifting mine.
“All this until I realised that the staircase, we have all found today really is escalating us northwards,
The energy dissipating away, smoke of cast-away theatricals, all turpitude depleting themselves off every hazard,
So put your worries to rest for today I feel we are all solemn, transpiring on a mission different from all you have read and heard.”
I began to speak. “Wait, Nilanjana,” said Henry screeching, “You first really need to see this,”
Saying Henry took me down the staircase while I wondered what part I was being made to reminisce.
Sheer anticipation clutched me as his face fluttered behind in frames of increasing bliss.
“Are you ready for this surreality?” Henry strictured me with a wave of elation.
As I nodded, he stepped aside and made available the vague image of a young man,
That, as focus enhanced, became evident as another who had crossed his own literary lifespan,
When his eyes glued to the pen didn’t budge with my arrival, I sensed his unyielding attention span.
But then in recognising him as he raised his head to speak, all of me began battling,
“Attempting tranquillising my mind,” said Sebastian, “this finesse of text is maddening.
I am surprised that I am no longer tossed within the streams of my own mental rambling.”
“I Sebastian Fox-Gudgeon,” he said reading out of a paper in which he had scribbled,
“Teased out of my old attitude, I’m still collecting why it used to be so vehemently crippled,
I figured that I have been debasing my neighbours and in that I feel earnestly belittled.”
His words fired out all of sudden. “I am stunned,” he said, looking into space.
Unflinching and calm, I gleaned into his paper and discovered the unexpected precision,
Grammar perfected, and arguably derailed degrees past any beginner’s articulative envision,
“My creator inspired me, ma’am,” he said, his focus gathering an enlightening incision.
My mind seeing stars all around, awakened with a colossal phew of consolation,
As Verity Fox-Gudgeon mysteriously stepped in and yet seemed to drive some sense into all this abstraction,
“Fear not, friend. Privileged now into your world, with their creator they wish to create a big impression.”
I turned to leave when Henry, face reflecting aimless musings, sought my help once more,
“I penned this doorway into existence,” said Henry and shifted into a sepia-coloured corridor.
Following, I corralled against a lone, less-illuminated corner to find a spacious bookstore.
“Wait! Please join me to the patio yonder before you explore,” urged Henry, patiently restraining his thrill.
The loud clunk of smashing articles sandwiched through the narrow exit door.
Predetermined to styme the impeccable frenzy I felt in even the clothes that I wore,
Splinters of BMW windshield, beer bottles flying, the visible sliver I could no longer ignore.
Reminiscent, I kicked backwards to Kevin’s fading voice around the novel’s final boundary,
Until the air yanked me back for another sidewards vision stupendously heavenly,
A revolting African face feeding cereals to a juvenile, visibly hungry.
Disregardful, the patio racket again dragged my wonder away with mirth and glee,
There, in alliance with a welling arc of disbelief in the space ahead did I see,
Belligerent Yuri rising from his small seat, then swerving craftily.
“Was he emphasising all his facade for my visibility?” I wondered.
Clearly averting Henry’s gaze, he came forth and into my ears then he whispered,
Alarmed my heart raced fast, until I felt his body shivered,
That’s when I realised there was far more than what I observed,
“Psst! Friend,” he said. “I will share something but you really can’t tell anything to your friend, Henry,
That in touring the product of his creative integrity I picked up an old, albeit slightly tattered antiquary,
A guide I hoped explained how, in order to meet my creator, my current self could first reach an expiry.”
“Your creator,” I interrupted, his resign tugging at my heartstrings, “Kevin wants you exactly the way you are.”
With a reformative gusto he ignored me and twice chanted, “ A heap of leaf detritus it says we need to char.”
“Something to alchemise,” he said, our eyes finally together, “ this fetid universe of me you sensed through the door left ajar.”
My mind stretched to include an odd insight as Yuri seemed to saunter into a lone memory.
“ ‘The failed discovery of hidden proclivity for Orthopaedics,’ muttered the doctor, removing Ullysses’ bloodied debris,
‘These percussive proneness, in the eyes of universal decency,’ he had said, hinting me as the appointed addressee,
‘Needed the mind of a carer, and the wavelength of a writer’s empathy,’ ” quoted Yuri, penitent to a serious degree.
“ I repeat, Yuri, your creator wanted you the way you are,” I sharply and concernedly interrupted,
“A way a way to purge,” he said listlessly flipping the book’s pages, “every life I have subtracted,”
“I wonder if a pyre of our needless chattels could be efficient enough to get all of me refunded?”
Encumbered in the stubborn assault of guilt wrapping this cellular frame so annoyingly dysaudicant,
Ignoring my reminders of his creator’s grace, he suddenly acted in a way upon which I could barely comment,
Linking Henry’s hand to a young face sprinkled with Pamela, he suddenly quaked me with his confounding intent.
I gawked my eyes widening to assimilate every peripheral entopic phenomenon.
“This antiquary recommends water-mixed plant char, a requisite for rich fertiliser,”
Said Yuri, redemptive still, revealing a queer moistness behind each eyelid wiper,
I felt confused. Was he genuinely conducting a real discord to be morally wiser?
“He’s inconsolable with this dawn that has spilled into our lives,” said a voice electing to speak on his behalf.
I turned around to surprisedly find Danny straight out of my mental photograph.
Incredulously well behaved, he said, “You see it’s my wastrel belongings he has chosen as calcinable chaff.”
The air changed and eavesdropping bluebells urged me to fling open my pages of enquiry,
Then vellichor quietly made entrance to guide this altered story,
As one by one, Ulysses, Florence, Fergus, and Mr. Beardsley joined Yuri.
I watched mesmerised as cheers, embraces and backslaps baffled the scenery.
Then came the unanimous response—-> “We can no longer be ourselves now that we have been set free,
Like residual Bokehs in the December of your reading luxury,
Home calls us, hence our preparation for coalition into this kindred capillary.”
“Many many days I have wondered,” said an emergent Pascal, face transfixingly tender,
In creating me, what part of his personal sanity Kevin had to temporarily surrender,
“This I promise you, Nilanjana, that from now on I will be his greatest defender.”
“But our confusion prevails, for we were once only a mere soup of words, pictures, ideas especially,
So an urge to shy away in marvel and shudder really rifts us from facing our creator THIS legendary.”
—By Miss Nilanjana Haldar
( Link to Kevin’s Starclass novel—> https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/43070034-the-fish-that-climbed-a-tree?from_search=true&from_srp=true&qid=jV61Pxl2WC&rank=1)