Archive | January, 2013
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G-14 Opening Speech

21 Jan

G-14 Opening Speech

A very short speech I gave at the International Youth Conference addressing the future and talking about expectations from the conference.

Thrilled to say that committee went every bit as well as we’d expected if not better.

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As Yet Untitled

21 Jan

(I’m getting a hang of these italicised paragraphs where you can really get into my head. In this next poem, I have consciously tried to use some abstract techniques and create a few questions. To all those who wonder, the character I speak of is indeed the creator. This poem is as yet untitled because I can’t yet find an appropriate title for it. I do hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have writing it. P.S. I wrote after watching a miserable ballon maker sell his wares on Marine Drive. Thank you.)

Come to me, the voice whispered.

Soft solace searching, darkness scared.
An artist amidst this all.
His definition stretched.
His art, not extending to the realm of art,
His art, the art that ticks the clock.
The world pays no tribute to his brush.
For it his brush that paints each sunrise
In all this, this artist, like any other.
Oblivious to the world he’s created.
Drowned in his muse. No space for thought.
Shades of green hit his eye.
It is a new colour. Left enamoured.
No search yet done but this one, the one.
Come whisper in my ear.
Tell me what you want.
I make animal balloons, don’t be afraid.
The madness of the maker challenged.
The rubber grating of two balloons.
And he thought he’d had a giraffe there.
But all he had was a knot tying the two.
The maker convinced it was what he intended to make.
And so, the boy, the whisperer,
Who had long given hope up.
Sighed, another balloon wasted.
The promised giraffe would never come.
Any art ever made unintentional the rest, natures play.

What Canvas Told

13 Jan

(Okay, so I thought I’g give this one a little bit of a background. Of late, I have found myself entirely captivated by Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris and Vicky Christina Barcelona. I found his portrayal of art and the artist to be quite interesting. So, the back drop of this poem is the world of an artist, or atleast someone who thinks she’s an artist (because don’t we all today?). Like art, I’ve attempted rather consciously to keep the poem abstract! Do tell me how you like it. Thank you)

Cigarettes brush the flow, 

Alive for that short transitory moment
The moment that follows,
A bare sole takes its life away.
 
That bare soul, staring on ahead,
A canvas, colours strewn;
Frustration in red. Calm in white.
And yet, this one, in black.
 
‘What feeling is it?’ asks she
And yet, the colours flow.
With intensity, anger yet emptying itself.
Insanity choosing a new abode.
 
Canvas it is. In that sheet of black,
What lay behind? The artist would know.
And yet, like the butt on the ground.
Clueless. Its art says she. 
 
Disappeared, not a thought. Dumped at the back.
But the canvas gnaws at the head. 
The greatest made? Far from it. 
At the top of the mind. Right up.
 
The canvas. The emptiness filled with darkness.
With it. In it. Filled in music.
Those spanish guitars, with their pain.
That violin with its grief.
 
And it never happened that it gave any answers.
Only questions arose.
One thing though, the artists aspiration. Shattered.
What did Poe say? Fell in love with melancholy.
 
She knew it’d happen one day. Earlier than hope. 
What canvas told…She hadn’t dared ask.
 

Cosmic Latte

6 Jan

And in the beginning,It all began.
Oh great creator whisper now,
“Now”
And with those words it all began.

Stars blending into darkness
Into the black velvet; settling in,
There to stay.

The stars arrived,
Time has begun,
Universe in motion.
The cosmos blending
Mitigating the effect.

A latte, a rich blend.
Heated and waiting to be consumed.
A rich cream on top, men calling it the milky way.

Oh great creator, grant us one last opportunity
To consume our lives and taste the cosmic blend.
We have this moment to integrate life and blend the darkness in.

The beans won’t alter truth,
Merely enhance illusion.
And you’re on a kick, feel the wonder,
The universe, my dear, beckons