Deep Recess
What you can never say, can still be said. What is understood, well . . .Archive for Emotion
Dove
In my being me you saw someone else and held a mirror to my face. I saw that and what I saw in that mirror reflected on me. I became a different me. When I became that me, I did not recognise myself in my mirror. I remained a stranger to myself. For a while. The me in my mirror then reflected back on me and I become the me that I used to be.
But I lost some of the me that I was. I am now me, but parts of me, I don’t recognise.
I wear makeup now, till my real me shines back again.
Two Guys
Two guys fighting.
One called I Belong.
The other called I Don’t Belong.
I Belong kept pulling inward.
I Don’t Belong kept pushing outward.
No one was winning.
No one was losing.
Both were equally strong.
I Belong said to I Don’t Belong:
“You don’t belong because you do not want to belong.”
I Don’t Belong replied to I Belong:
“You don’t really belong, you are just used to belonging.”
I Belong said to I Don’t Belong:
“You are just like me, you know, all you need to do is believe.”
I Don’t Belong replied to I Belong:
“You are just like me, you know, all you need to do is wake-up.”
Vortex
And that day, I decided I will keep
Yet the silent punishment seemed harsh. I quiet.
with. good reason. I knew, somehow, had I
begin For it in. Like instantly, to would
to it. Drink spiral. a I endure not
mistake swallow out. it let couldn’t it say
my and inside all it take however, a
was It me. hurt it if Even word.
Green & Red
Green and red of the traffic lights refracted on the drops of rain on the windsheild.
Rain becoming the accused of the murder of good times. Why do people hate the rain?
All the familiarity goes away one day, some day. Nothing remains your own.
You Murderer…
How will I live with the one click that my index finger just executed? That little, hardly noticeable action – poured water on many hopes, made insignificant the sweat and toil of many, and stabbed the dreams that were nurtured day and night.
I was one of the many who were murdered. I was the one who killed.
Can All Wait?
The task at hand is as tangible as can be – ordering of books, the meal to be cooked, and such. The thought – so fleeting, so transient, so delicate that any other task, or thought even may wreck it.
Can all the corporeal tasks wait to set this ephemeral thought in concrete so that it is available to you for ever?
What do you do then, with that inventory – do these blocks of thoughts, now tangible, become tasks?
Untitled: 15 April
It is bad enough that words are treacherous enough not to be able to convey meaning. But when they become the basis of defining your character…
My eyes were intently looking at the toothpaste foam tending towards the steel-rimmed hole in the basin. I sensed her standing behind me. At that time, toothpaste foaming in my mouth, it would have been best not to say anything. Sheer utterance of a syllable even would have been the death of the moment. And yet…
Artist is the Art?
If they don’t understand me, they don’t understand my art. Are they interested in the art or the artist? They don’t understand art, so they make meaning by knowing the artist.
What if the artist suffered from undiagnosed split-personality disorder?
Let Go
I’ll let go now.
Not because I want to.
It just makes sense
To them.
I have been given a choice
Either I live with what I want
Or who I want
Visual: 003
I could only see a triangle in the beginning. It did reveal itself eventually. It was the entrance roof of a monastery. Through a gravel path of white and light coloured stones, the horse neighed upwards to the entrance, a few steps of slate grey and I was inside.
The ceiling, only the ceiling it was dark red of sorts, white sunflower shaped relief.
