Nigh, Nigh Enough

Three weeks and the artist continues to toil. Burning the midnight oil each day in those concrete and glass walls. Wielding analyses, forgetting days and nights. How the heart breaks to see those eyes that have to drudge over inane fodder for his future learning, and role changes, leading its silent revolt against those headonistic managerial and directorial skulls.

He's not meant to be doing any of this (nothing short of the best for him), and will be out soon enough, the dear artist; He ought to. Painting the colours of the world in his head, his every stroke is going to be masterful.

Meanwhile, I will be by the biggest clock in my city, waiting to see the day his world comes alive and then see, through his quaint mirror, the pride and joy in my eyes whilst giving him the bottle of Minute Maid I'd bought for him from a shop by the banyan tree with the strongest roots on Earth.

Sometimes I wish it was the tug of the heart and yearn in the eye when someone dear does, gives, or gives up something for you, that I feel, and not my altruistic breath all the time.

Vision

Wo, wo, give me the credit that's due, corporate! Excuse me, but I conceptualised the film festival+you! idea much before you gave it a shot, much much before. I did! Oh well, I'll go with altruism and some activities to ward off the wrath  for now.

But let me tell you this: There will be days when you're going to wake up each morning with our ideas. We both will be selling them, at a steep price; and you guys are not going to be able to do without us or our consults, because well, we're way too fast and forward for your thoughts. Ha, we are not going to be lazy with our patent files and defensive publications then.

Oh and, dearies, we're not megalomaniacs before you (monomaniacally) dismiss this for that. It's going to be our time, ours.

Just you wait! We're just kindling the fire.

Eliot and Valerie

And the rhythm that governs the repose of our sleeping time,

the breathing in unison.

In waking moments, being lost in the softness of quiescent eyes breathing gently.

Messiah

Every passing day, I hope someone plays La Valse d'Amelie, the piano version, and my Lord stands right behind me and all I would need to do is lodge myself on His chest and be lost for a long, lost while.

Can you play the waltz?  

Exasperation

I need a smoke! (No, I don't smoke)

Nee Daya Raada?

nee daya rAda, rAma?
kAdane vAreva ru kalyANa rAma?

nanu brOchE vADani nADE teliya
ina vamSa tilaka inta tAmasamA?

:)

Feathers fall,
feathers grow.
And yet They are
the same twosome birds,
flight in toe.

Harmal

And each time you are at Arambol, you keep asking yourself, "What is going on?" in the faintest voice
that swims away from you, swiftly through the mercurial air;
while whiffing and tracing the answers,
Muse.

A wilted sunflower

Without you.

Beswaadi beswaadi ratiyaan, oh sajna|
Rookhi re, oh rookhi re,
Kaatore kate, katena!
Tere bina chand ka sona khota re
Peeli peeli dhool udaawe jhoota |
Tere bina sona peetal|

Tere sang keethar peepal.

Drama / Masks / Obscurity

"How different am I," asks the good ole' paint of the painter; unable to comprehend its master's eccentric choices and strokes.
----

Would you savour the minutes
and hours, for you are The
Cafe Terrace at Night?

Even if the nights were close,
and wide apart as the dual
orientations of your shadow,
will you wait for me
at Cafe Terrace this Night?