YOU

Teeming multitudes reside in your flesh and bones

You’re a different realm waiting to be known.

Stars glimmer in your eyes speaking of wonders within

Immortal stories are being etched on your very skin.

The entire universe lies in your soft, frail hands

On the brink of an unparalleled dimension you stand.

Chasing dreams that line the distant horizon

The world wants you to realize that now is your turn.

Your mind is a workplace for beautiful thoughts

A throbbing psychedelia in your heart you’ve got.

Your very being is as bright as lamp lit diyas

For your soul belongs to the nocturnal cosmic arenas.

You’re a mélange of meteoroids and stardust

A swirling, whirling entity filled with rainbow bursts.

You’re the shafts of sunlight falling on a golden shore

Wreathed in beauty and yet so much more.

You’re the art that’s fragile yet true

You’ve just got to remember, there’s no one like you.

Why do writers write?

For us, writers, this is such a profound question of our existence. Writing for me, has always been a constant source of inspiration and sheer joy. The intensity and magnitude of exhilaration that writing gives can’t possibly be gauged. I, for one, cannot even find words to construct a coherent answer to define this feeling, this beautiful feeling that I experience when I write. Writers feel this way. But why do they?
Maybe it’s this uncanny ability of penning down something heartfelt that transmogrifies our complete state of being when the weight of our emotions gently get absorbed in long parchments and old diaries. Maybe it’s the written monologue that elevates our souls to a level of blissful equilibrium. Maybe it’s the effortless exercise of mind-cleansing that writing brings with itself. Maybe it’s the fact that writing is a medium of communion between the deepest corners of our minds and the strangest places of our hearts. Maybe it’s because writing is an extension of ourselves- how we perceive, observe, interpret, comprehend and ‘look’ at this world with all its little creations and constituents. Maybe it’s another way to silence our inner demons or explore brief, fleeting moments of life that make it worth living. Maybe it’s an intangible entity that lets us express ourselves in ways so powerful yet so subtle that we could very well lose ourselves into it. I do!
Maybe, just maybe, it’s a sublime confluence of everything; a fusion of emotion, feeling, thought, idea, belief, desire…what have you!
I, for one, want to explore this beautiful art for as long as I breathe. Indulge in every bit of it. Discover its essence. Just. Discover.
Because, discovery is like being born again. Into a new world of endless possibilities and unending adventures. And these repeated processes of discoveries will then become a series of rediscoveries reaching to the zenith of yet another discovery- self-discovery. And that, I believe, is the answer for all of us, searching for the absolute truth; embarking on a quest to find our purpose. That’s when we truly learn the art of living. By knowing who we are. And that in itself, is a beautiful thing to know.
So, here’s to 2 a.m. monologues and authentic rants. To black ink blots on scribbled parchments. To living. And to writing!

What is Art?

Pouring your heart out on a piece of parchment.

Painting the canvas with colors of your imagination.

Creating soulful sounds that are reminiscent of melancholy.

Expressing the chaos within through the palette of your emotions.

That’s what’s Art.

 

Art is just a reflection-a reflection for viewing the vibrancy of life itself. A work of art is as alive and interconnected with life as we are; it reflects a moment for sure, but each person who views it adds to it by ways of thoughts, impressions and emotions. When art finds an audience, along with its creator’s piece of soul, it grows into yet another fulfilling experience for everyone it connects with.

Seeing is believing and believing is enriching the spirit. The eye observes the unobvious. And in my eyes, art is an honest narration of an interesting journey that evolves from the very veins of its creator.

Art is like the sea. Beneath the deceptively opaque surface of this sea, lies vibrant color, exquisite form and fluid movement combined with tranquil suspension of time and matter.

Every element that meets the eye dances to a melody amidst the interplay and connection between reality, fantasy and memory. I see art in simple aesthetics. Old books, cherry blossoms, lemongrass, mist rising in the air, paper lanterns, abandoned places, a sky full of stars, polaroids, freshly cut grass, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, clouds, sunsets, rain, the smell of woods in the forest, scented candles, piano sounds, lavender, snowflakes…This. Is. Art. This is art because it inspires. When I think of these little things, I can’t help but feel peaceful. Serenity washes over me.

For example, when I do photography, my lens become my eyes. The visuals become of paramount importance and begin from the interior and move to the exterior through the eye of the camera.

The universe speaks. And it moves beautifully. The universe is a limitless study of form and many a philosophy in motion and stillness. It is the cycle of life and lifetimes and the enormity of creation itself. Art is but a glimpse of all this and the journey of the mind eager to experience more.