Today there were fireworks in my city. Not in the sky. But 8 explosions. Yes, It didn't hurt. It could have been worse. But it represents a drive that worries me. I understand destruction. With each drop of ink the space that was my canvas is broken. with every syllable silence is dead. But out of this death is born creation. the cycle continues. (and on and on and on)and there's so much love to give. there's so much love to give. Here we are. Poets.painters.philosophers.politicians. desperately trying to grasp what we're born into. All the immensity. trying to imitate. trying to emulate. 'but art can never imitate. It can only inspire.' We cannot play god. through bombs. through paint. The approach should then not be to imitate. To have 'creation' at your fingertips. but to thank.
I could spend years painting a mountain. It will never be the mountain itself. trapped on paper. not so vivid. in technicolour. (It will never be the mountain.) It only expresses love for that mountain. It is not to make it mine. But to make it me. Love is: Anterior to life. Posterior to death Initial to creation the exponent of breath.
After 56.5 long hours of intensive travel by air,train,bus and shared cabs we found ourselves in gangtok. The roads were long. Calcutta was beauty broken down.blackouts.reservation counters.Yellowtaxis.Kohl lined eyes. kali at every corner. The city of joy. Calcutta was red.wasbrown. was smoke curling. was bodies burning. Summer sinks its teeth into our flesh. Lost. Alive.
16 long hours in a bus. I long for peace and it finds me. green as apple. green as the sea. Fields spread themselves like cordouroy. Blue skies. Leaving the dust of siliguri behind us. A shared cab. secretly smoked cigarettes. Through bengal into Sikkim. I've been looking for divinity and find it in flowers. The border approaches. A rainbow coloured checkpost. Prayer flags.peace. lotuses. Love. Coconut water. The river..The River Teesta is white like bone and becomes the long spinal column of the land. Free. A cat once told me that pebbles near the river are souls in search of peace. I now understand this silence.