Its my chance now-chill!

As the winters set in

A season when everything’s so pink. When the bright sun takes a short vacation and the winds whirl around. When the days are not too long and it gets dark sooner than you imagined. The cool breeze from nowhere hugs you tight early morning as you stroll around. Makes you wake up with a smile from the deep slumber. The sight of dancing leaves of the tree that stands by the window, the chirping of birds,  a row of festival lamps, the lantern, the bloom, brewing coffee, soft music and the increasing appetite for tempting hot yummy food.  It’s a time of the year when warm clothes, blankets pamper you to the tee and you love to get soaked in the early sun rays. So close to the bountiful nature, yet so warm. Serenity at its best. Wish it stayed always, but there’s heat to follow, then there are showers. Life’s not the same. Winters show however much you deny the goodness on earth. Nature has everything in it and offers a bit to offer for all on the earth. But it’s my chance now since its winters. Welcoming with open arms.

In my dream!

I  saw you this morning, in my dream
Even now, despite the eternal truth
My thoughts so strongly beam
And my heart sinks with the spurt
As I look at the sun, stars and sky
For only they know who you are and who am I
I see you smile and your face that glows  
And then your eyes that stop the show
Ocean of love, mushy and slow
Mark  the heart that beats for me, 
for all i know its not me, its thee
i wish i race the fate for you 
to feel your warmth that i am due
Then get cuddled and touched all over once again for long and forever 
Then pamper your smoothies so pure
I love the way you drew me in 
I wish to be very close till i win
But it’s  not the way as it seems  
For all I know its a dream..its a dream!2015-10-11 23.33.51

SO the artist has to create, mean, amuse and what else?

An artist is a crazy nut, treads on a path, nobody likes, nobody dares and nobody takes. Everything on the path becomes a platform for her. Or him. Since I am not a feminist. And happy not being one. But I refer to an artist with ‘She’ and nobody can object that here since she is on a right platform. She is here because, there’s a tri-party argument waiting to be unleashed. An Intention ,if you doubt,  is clearly to make the argument strong and come up with as solution, of course, if its there? Between the art, the commercial art and the platform.

She just doesn’t realise how she feels so obliged that the latent talent is waiting to explode on a platform. Finds an urge to embrace the compelling platform that lets her jump so high  that she can’t check. Then, she is the only star in the entire world waiting to be approached. The highest priced possession for anyone. And at a point, she goes deep in love with the freaking ground, she prostrates and fears before every performance, reaches the point of no return and what happens when the curtains fall?

Where’s the art? An art means more or something else? What matter more are the ambiguous smiles, the perennial cribs, the frowns and the small-talks of people around and the most dangerous codes ever in the history of human evolution which appear like ???????? SO are they more important than an art? Then again the long snake-like chain appears. Starts hissing constantly, spewing unstopable agony. A vicious circle shows up and shouts loud to say it can’t be cut anywhere. And again the trail. She struggles with the fast-paced undercurrents which take her to nowhere.

Why’s freaking ‘art’ so hard? Or is it hard for all but for the artists? In the first place, can art be standalone and still great? Don’t the commercial yardsticks tamper with the art? Then what is the art in its purest form. Does it even exist? And the differences intrigue even more, when one artist puts his foot down for the other. Disagreements lead to the chaos. And the blues cut through the intended aura of the art. Let loose and hold at the same time. The human mind is trained best to do the either. And the very expectation that the artists are supposed to amuse, create, mean, all at the same time. Should rather consider being a clown.

Art’s not a run of the mill. It’s ingrained in some humans. In some unfortunate bunch for whom life’s been and is an unexplained and an uncontrolled roller coaster. The feelings from the heart reach just beneath the skin, waiting to go out, but stop short. They stop because they see an imaginary shield ahead. They know how to overcome, but there’s time for every damn thing to happen.

Artists are gifted with the eyes that see the world beyond the moulds and the frames. But they are convinced, they cant live, unless they bring all that in a frame. They are capable of seeing the world beyond the horizon. But only they can bring those aliens on this planet and breath life out of them. Sadly, they have to pay for these natural gifts they have. They pay for being unique, quirky and intuitive.Oh, I forgot, they all come free from God for them, so they are supposed to flow free. But since they are humans, they dare to talk of trade and what they get back, the value per feeling is as good as the currency which is no longer in use.