LIGHTS AND SHADES

Who is the real subject of most love poems? Not the beloved. It is the hole. When I desire you, a part of me is gone: my want of you partakes of me. So reasons the lover at the edge of eros. The presence of want awakens in him nostalgia for wholeness. His thoughts turn toward questions of personal identity: he must recover and reincorporate what is gone if he is to be a complete person. […] Most people find something disturbingly lucid and true in Aristophanes’ image of lovers as people cut in half. All desire is for a part of oneself gone missing, or so it feels to the person in love.

Anne Carson, Eros the Bittersweet: An Essay.

Book Dinosaurs

Posting on Tumblr my art in the past few months.

This makes me so happy and sad at the same time.!🥺

i love when i “make a mental note” of something. it’s gone within 20 seconds

FLOWERS AND SCARS

The flowers you once gave

Are now my bookmarks.

Dried and black,

Yet somehow artful.

Like the scars, you left behind

To bookmark

The person I was, and have become.

Dried and black,

Yet somehow hurtful.

(13.11.20)

 The endearing youth looks around 

Searching for something, seeking someone

All the gopi of Brij ask their darling

“What is that thee seek so dearly Girdhari?”

“Thy footsteps have become transient? 

Our anklets which chimed along with your

the melodious morning flute feels distant and silent.

What is that thee seek so dearly Govind?”

“We scan amber heaven for thou as

our kohl feels amiss without thy divine embrace,

the universe feels unfathomable and labyrinth 

What is that thee seek so dearly Vasudev?

The saccharine smile of the youth 

gazes the sky reflective of his complexion

with those bejeweled eyes affixed yet adrift

extends his sapphire hands as he says 

‘I yearn, the beauty’s euphoric darshan

she, the very presence of self

adorned in humility of Vrindaban

This Murali seeks for his Manmayi’

I yearn, for the essence of tenderness

She, who dances under nightfall luminous cape

embellished herself in ornaments from the moon,

This Keshav seeks for his Keshavi’

‘I yearn, the nectar of their name,

undiluted bliss, clinging to me like a rare perfume

melts away heavenly sinners’ lie

This Shyam seeks for his Radhe’

- nocturne 

the books I’ve read all make up the tiny pieces of my soul; to read them is to read into my heart

At that point in my life where I FINALLY understand why people cry when they hear certain songs.

Exhibit A:

the utter romantic notion that the stars have a hand in our fate.

COFFEE AND POETRY

Coffee and Poetry. How similar!

If you think they're poles apart,

You'll be surprised when I start.

You consume one

while the latter consumes you

Go on, try one while you brew.

Impedes your sleep

With a word, a line, a sip, or a cup

Stops you before you can think of giving up

Dark and addictive,

Sometimes even bitter.

Yet, somehow makes you feel better.

Coffee and Poetry. How similar!

Intoxicates you while it's also a detox

A mug or paper filled with paradox.