Immaterial

 

10x13.5 inches; Pen and ink over graphite pencil on tinted drawing paper (Click on image to enlarge)

We are at war with ourselves.
Fighting for life with ‘Self Destruct’ programmed into our motherboards.
Do and die. Kill and be killed. All guts, no glory!
It is a slow burn horror flick with no survivors!
This IS civilized; we are assured. This IS progress.
The world is an orange.
We have peeled off the rind, dug our nails deep into it for oil, and squeezed out all the juices from each one of its carpels, and dumped the rest in radioactive waste.
The corporates own the seeds; also the air, water and our freedom.
The filthy rich and powerful own the corporates.
We own nothing, not even our own selves!
All of that conceit, that greed, that deceit, that unbridled need to win, will come to nothing.
The genocide, the ecocide, the hate mongering and democide will not make us invincible!
We will perish, and rot, and so will the memory of our plot.
What will remain is speculation and dust, on our toxic dreams and lust, in between the layers of the earth’s lithosphere.

Pancha Mahabhoota 5 - Vyom (ether/space)

12x16 inches; Pen drawing on acid free textured paper (Click on image to enlarge)

Kosmos

Who includes diversity and is Nature,

Who is the amplitude of the earth, and the coarseness and sexuality of the earth, and the great charity of the earth and the equilibrium also,

Who has not look’d forth from the windows the eyes for nothing, or whose brain held audience with messengers for nothing,

Who contains believers and disbelievers, who is the most majestic lover,

Who holds duly his or her triune proportion of realism, spiritualism, and of the æsthetic or intellectual,

Who having consider’d the body finds all its organs and parts good,

Who, out of the theory of the earth and of his or her body understands by subtle analogies all other theories,

The theory of a city, a poem, and of the large politics of these States;

Who believes not only in our globe with its sun and moon, but in other globes with their suns and moons,

Who, constructing the house of himself or herself, not for a day but for all time, sees races, eras, dates, generations,

The past, the future, dwelling there, like space, inseparable together.

- Walt Whitman

Pancha Mahabhoota 4 - Tejas (fire)

12x16 inches; Pen drawing on acid free textured paper (Click on image to enlarge)

Fire

This life that we call our own

Is neither strong nor free;

A flame in the wind of death,

It trembles ceaselessly.

And this all we can do

To use our little light

Before, in the piercing wind,

It flickers into night:

To yield the heat of the flame,

To grudge not, but to give

Whatever we have of strength,

That one more flame may live.

- Dorothea Mackeller

Pancha Mahabhoota 3 - Kshiti (earth)

12x16 inches; Pen drawing on acid free textured paper (Click on image to enlarge)

The End Of The World

Here, at the end of the world,
the flowers bleed
as if they were hearts,
the hearts ooze a darkness
like India Ink,
& poets dip their pens in
& they write.

"Here, at the end of the world,"
they write,
not knowing what it means.
"Here, where the sky nurses on black milk,
where the smokestack feed the sky,
where the trees tremble in terror
& people come to resemble them. . . . "

Here, at the end of the world,
the poets are bleeding.
Writing & bleeding
are thought to be the same;
singing & bleeding
are thought to be the same.

Write us a letter!
Send us a parcel of food!
Comfort us with proverbs or candied fruit,
with talk of one God.
Distract us with theories of art
no one can prove.

Here at the end of the world
our heads are empty,
& the wind walks through them
like ghosts
through a haunted house. 

- Erica Jong

Pancha Mahabhoota 2 - Apas (the waters)

12x16 inches; Pen drawing on acid free textured paper (Click on image to enlarge)

The Message In A Bottle

The thirst flows through us.

In our veins,

Yours, mine, ours...

The rivers,

Tributaries,

Waterfalls,

Lakes,

Seas and oceans

Alive with life.

The tides form a cycle

Like life itself.

High then ebbs,

Washes the shore

Breaks

And flows...

Carrying the burden

Of sunken ships

And decay.

‘Pure spring water’ says the label

On bottled paranoia

Served chilled

For quenching thirst.

Free of microbes

Causing diarrhoea,

Added  

With extra mineral...

Life guaranteed.

Water bodies choke with litter.

Discarded

Empty bottles

Of ‘pure spring water’,

Toxic waste

Marinated in acid rain,

Chemical cocktails

And oil spills

Alive with death.

Numerous plastic bottles,

Float out

To sea,

Carrying a singular message:

‘If water turns to poison,

Life will cease

Without hope for recycling,

A discarded empty bottle

Floating in the sea!’

- Rudra Kishore Mandal

Pancha Mahabhoota 1 - Marut (wind/air/storm)

 12x16 inches; Pen drawing on acid free textured paper (Click on image to enlarge)

Subway Wind

Far down, down through the city's great, gaunt gut,

The gray train rushing bears the weary wind;

In the packed cars the fans the crowd's breath cut,

Leaving the sick and heavy air behind.

And pale-cheeked children seek the upper door

To give their summer jackets to the breeze;

Their laugh is swallowed in the deafening roar

Of captive wind that moans for fields and seas;

Seas cooling warm where native schooners drift

Through sleepy waters, while gulls wheel and sweep,

Waiting for windy waves the keels to lift

Lightly among the islands of the deep;

Islands of lofty palm trees blooming white

That lend their perfume to the tropic sea,

Where fields lie idle in the dew drenched night,

And the Trades float above them fresh and free.

- Claude McKay