hear what you want

honey-eyed love

i know you belong to the sun

although we're apart you're a part of my heart

but tonight you belong to me

break down, by the street, how sweet
it would seem once more
just to dream it in
the moonlight

my honey-eyed love
with the dawn
and music will become
hunger tonight

you belong to me

but tonight
you belong
to me

that

only in poetry

you are granted the gravity

to take what you want to say

with all the seriousness

nobody would ever

expend

on listening.

our words -

always too quick
too thick

- puzzle our silences.

adding up

we've lived through a compact history of negation

now our silences as thick
and unforgiving
as permanent markers
that cut through
our fundamental desire
to erase
to forgive
to hold hands
to complement

we are still tight in our togetherness
tight in making meaning
off the other

counting like coins
of devalued currency

we are still intense
with our attractions
knotted into our repulsions

loud mouthed retaliations

we are still concentrated
with the efforts
to make memory out
of missing

weaving nostalgia into
isolation

making each living day
the work
of finding
and not finding
the other

catalysts
in our own downfall

it is all the mathematics we are capable of

we still haven't been able to choose sides in this

single

story of us.

newborn

buds recover from their bloom

beauty unfolds in the wrinkles
that have come to occupy your face.

longer

i try to spill you into mother's
ears with my
words

telling you like a story

making you linger longer into your


absence.

the most beautiful man on earth

i sat beside you
swinging in my seat
i spoke to you
through my mouth
my eyes
my hands that twisted
to try
to make
known

but it's clearly not the things i say
you say

my ears have still not trained themselves to
hear

not as much
as my mouth has trained itself
to make itself
heard

lips swell
shut

it wasn't the words
that washed over me

when silences were gained

who knew
each cell in this body would jingle

here
at home
in the night
washed with the growing glow of moonlight

there is no worry
no exhaustion
no words pandering in their own darkness

there is no need for poetry

there is a clearing
wherein resides clarity
where smiles are made
where the heart levitates

to get that much closer to the moon.

it was so inspiring, please go see

WOMEN THAT PACK A PUNCH

At exhibitions, there is often the kind of art that puts you to sleep and then there’s the kind that shakes up each cell in your body, changing the alchemy of your very existence.

As you enter the exhibition hall at Park Gallery, the thing you may notice first is how the women in Umesh Shah’s latest solo exhibition titled Invention in Tradition—their standing, seated, reclining bodies splayed in the most unflattering of poses—disregard you.

Whether it be in the distinct sharpness of their two-dimensional eyes that stare unfalteringly at the world, or in the expressions evoked through the uninhibited turn of their lips, the women are striking, bold, unbeatable. It looks like every woman in this collection of 31 paintings is smirking at the world, and by extension, at you, the audience. “We don’t give a hoot about you,” they seem to casually proclaim.

There is also a certain masculinity to their poise, an almost transvestite quality to these peculiarly long nosed women who seem to reveal all that is beautiful in them as well as that which is ugly. Hips curve, breasts jut out of chest unperturbed, hands move, hold, possess. Together, the collection seems to be saying that nothing could be more attractive than a woman who—in her attitude, poise and expressions—conquers the manly space of confidence and self-assuredness while still preserving her femininity. Naturally, they have a flair that is missing in our cultural understanding of women where they are still expected to be beautiful in a demure, dainty way. Shyness may be considered a virtue, politeness a quality still very much desired in and demanded of women, but they only serve to limit what being a woman means. Petulant, moody, unafraid of expressing themselves, the figurines in this collection are not even remotely shy. Clever, mischievous, they entice, opening up limitless possibilities in the tiny space of an art gallery.

Shah predominantly works in blues and greens; the turquoise colour itself feels like an overarching theme, and seems to represent moonlight. Even though the paintings are oil/acrylic on canvas, they carry a rustic feel, creating the impression of Maithili art that has aged on village walls for years, causing some of the paint to peel or chip away. The brightness of the colour combination coupled with the uneven texture brings the paintings to life. On top of that, everything in Shah’s paintings is injected with personality, whether it’s the women themselves, or the mirror one of them holds in a painting, or the barely visible cat in the background in another.

At a juncture in human history such as this, we often look upon traditions as cumbersome barriers to individual freedom and liberty. Yet, with the increasing legitimacy that individuality has gained, humanity has also come to face an existential crisis where isolated individuals have hit upon a dearth of meaning.

Perhaps traditions did serve a role to make life meaningful, even though in their appearance they seemed to confine. Perhaps there is something in them to preserve, maintain, recreate. Shah’s collection pushes forth this idea, reclaiming the traditional space of Maithili art with an unabashed celebration of women that wander through the night, mingling with darkness and indulging in their sensuality.

In re-inventing traditions, Shah inevitably subverts them, provoking the orthodox eye, but also providing scope for modern, fragmented lives to find a home, feel native, start belonging again.

Art is ultimately philosophy, and in its essence, this collection gestures towards an inner freedom that neither tradition nor modernity can take away from us.

At first glance, Invention in Tradition is a collection of contemporary paintings that draw a strong influence from traditional Maithili art. A closer look reveals that it is, in fact, a story strung together through rustic and visually seductive images. Spend an hour surrounded by these paintings, and you’ll find that it may have changed the alchemy of your existence.

Invention in Tradition is on exhibition at Park Gallery in Patan until April 23.

this began with the thought of how stupid and wise you are

it always happens when i'm moving

this time, though, i was trying hard not to think
i was yelling songs into the air

and yet it slipped into my mind anyway

and i thought you should know

that out of the many kinds of people
there are two
that i know exist for sure

there are those kind of people
who know exactly how stupid they are
but are clueless about their own intelligence

and then there are those kind of people
who know exactly how intelligent they are
but have absolutely no idea about their own stupidity

now, should i tell you which one you happen to be?

skinny love

we are stories without strands

fragments 

in our sense of belonging

troubled

by how we subtract

in all our togetherness

poking holes too deep

too wide

who will love you

who will leave you

with what i've found

who will find 

what's in your mind

who will smile

and unbecome

who will find 

what i've lost

who will find 

and keep forever ago.

we were love yesterday

today we move like the wind

invisible ghosts

pale to the bone

frightened to the core

swallowed by the night

this song is a charm

that does not save the day

it does not save the day.

it rhymes against the will of words

all the love is wasted.