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The gift to create form, from the mist of imagination, is pure magic!


Showing posts with label figurative. Show all posts
Showing posts with label figurative. Show all posts

Wednesday, September 9, 2026

Cloudy With A Chance Of Rain

 






10 x 13.5 inches; Pen and ink over graphite pencil on tinted drawing paper (Click on image to enlarge)


Where Are the Tidings of Union? - Hafez

Where are the tidings of union? That I may arise
Forth from the dust I will rise up to welcome thee!
My soul, like a homing bird, yearning for Paradise,
Shall arise and soar, from the snares of the world set free.
When the voice of thy love shall call me to be thy slave,
I shall rise to a greater far than the mastery
Of life and the living, time and the mortal span:
Pour down, oh Lord I from the clouds of thy guiding grace.
The rain of a mercy that quickeneth on my grave.
Before, like dust that the wind bears from place to place,
I arise and flee beyond the knowledge of man.
When to my grave thou turnest thy blessed feet,
Wine and the lute thou shalt bring in thine hand to me,
Thy voice shall ring through the folds of my windingsheet,
And I will arise and dance to thy minstrelsy.
Though I be old, clasp me one night to thy breast,
And I, when the dawn shall come to awaken me,
With the flush of youth on my cheek from thy bosom will rise.
Rise up! Let mine eyes delight in thy stately grace!
Thou art the goal to which all men’s endeavour has pressed,
And thou the idol of Hafiz’ worship; thy face
From the world and life shall bid him come forth and arise!

-Translated by Gertrude L. Bell 



Monday, July 13, 2026

Craving


10 x 13.5 inches; Pen and ink over graphite pencil on tinted drawing paper (Click on image to enlarge)

The Vampire (From ‘Fleur Du Mal’ - Charles Baudelaire)

Thou, sharper than a dagger thrust
Sinking into my plaintive heart,
Thou, frenzied and arrayed in lust,
Strong as a demon host whose art

Possessed my humbled soul at last,
Made it thy bed and thy domain,
Strumpet, to whom I am bound fast
As is the convict to his chain,

The stubborn gambler to his dice,
The rabid drunkard to his bowl,
The carcass to its vermin lice —
O thrice-accursed be thy soul!

I called on the swift sword to smite
One blow to free my life of this,
I begged perfidious aconite
For succor in my cowardice.

But sword and poison in my need
Heaped scorn upon my craven mood,
Saying: "Unworthy to be freed,
From thine accursed servitude,

O fool, if through our efforts, Fate
Absolved thee from thy sorry plight,
Thy kisses would resuscitate
Thy vampire's corpse for thy delight."

— translated by Jacques LeClercq, Flowers of Evil


Monday, May 25, 2026

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.

Monday, April 6, 2026

Snail Trail

 





10 x 13.5 inches; Pen and ink over graphite pencil on tinted drawing paper (Click on image to enlarge)

I trace the stray strands of coiled hair
Clinging to your forehead,
Damp with perspiration.
My fingertips slick with your saliva
Blends the cool wetness,
Absorbing your attention.
As my fingers travel on your bareness,
A creeper trailing a wall
In search for lubrication,
My parched mouth nibbles your ear,
Sucking out moist moans
From the well of satiation!
My face slips onto your broad shoulder
Held in the cup of your neck,
Inhaling the aroma of passion,
While my tongue licks your caramel skin
Moving south, leaving wet trails
On a map without a destination…
I am a nomad without a planned route,
In the wild landscape of your body
Discovering terrain for exploration.
My tongue lingers on mounds and valleys,
On downy fields and musky clefts,
Heady with a sensual revelation!
When your fingers plough through my hair
With an infectious hot urgency,
I sense ecstasy in dissolution!

Friday, December 12, 2025

Inconvenient Truth

 






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

NO!
I DON’T want to hear about it!
I DON’T want to know!
There is no
Singular universal truth,
NO!
There is nothing
You can do
To
Deceive my mind
Into giving up my faith
In the truth I know.
You claim it is delusion!
Yes!
You liar! You spawn of filth!
No.
Your truth is not mine!
YOU are the deluded one.
You make me
Feel SO
Unsafe!
I want to throw up!
Why are you doing this
To
ME?
Are you not ashamed
Of Such disgrace?
No.
I will not break out
Of my truth!
It protects me
From the likes of you.
No b-itch!
It’s NOT denial.
Your rationale
Hurts my belief.
Your knowledge
Pricks my sentiments.
Curiosity
Is the worst temptation,
And knowledge
Shall truly be
The downfall of
Me!

Friday, July 26, 2024

Firdaus

 





20.5x28.5 inches; Watercolour, pen and ink over graphite pencil on handmade paper (Click on image to enlarge)

“Agar firdaus bar roo-e zameen ast,
Hameen ast-o hameen ast-o hameen ast.” - Amir Khusrau


My paradise is lost. Was it mine, to begin with? If it was mine, was it paradise?

It was a safe haven for me - Not just a piece of land, not just a garden and an abode I called home,

To make sense of where I belonged. It was my solace, my peace of mind where I carefully hoarded

The fragmented pieces of my mind.

Where the wind blew melodies of the forest and the seas and the lullabies of the starry nights,

Songs that breathed my existence and gave me the reason to call everything mine!

It was the fountain of mirth where the tears of joy sparkled.

It was the cave of sorrow where shadows dried my tears.

A nest that cradled my life calming all my fears, feeding me, clothing me, satiating all my desires…

Then I lost it all!

So violently torn, so bitingly violated that I questioned the verity of my memories.

To become a tumble weed in the desert, a paper boat in the flood, a lump of meat in the feast,

A compass without North!

The beasts come in hoards to eat the leftovers, stripping the meat from the bones,

To gorge on what scraps are left of my humanity in an arena full of spectators who debate;

Shall it be a thumbs up or a thumbs down?

And yet I want to live, I want my love to live, I want my hope to live, I want my tribe to live,

I want to live to find my paradise one more time!

I want to live for our songs of paradise to stay alive.


Tuesday, April 30, 2024

Propaganda

 







30x20 inches; Pen and ink over graphite pencil on tinted drawing paper (Click on image to enlarge)

I look perfectly charismatic
While my innards are swarming with worms
Festering from corruption and bile,
An immaculate Dorian Gray in the vilest norms!

I can conjure up godly avatars
While orchestrating the most demonic of deeds
Knowing, you shall find me innocent
Disregarding what your faculty of reason heeds!

I will stalk you like a predator
While promising you the world of your dream,
Bending the rules to trap the prey
Leaving you crumbs and stealing all the cream!

I can gradually poison your being
While you thank me for being the saintly messiah!
You will imagine you have free will
As I turn you into slavish mobs taming the pariah!

I will rape and plunder with my power
While you stay drugged with hatred and deceit,
No victim shall receive justice or closure
But in turn will be deemed guilty by moral conceit!

I am quite a scoundrel, I know
While you remain confident of my holy character!
Why else try to control public opinion
If not to lead, unchecked, my fattened lambs to slaughter?

Friday, November 17, 2023

Tara

 







20.5x28.5 inches; Watercolour, pen and ink over graphite pencil on handmade paper (Click on image to enlarge)

Tara

In the beginning there was void. All pervading darkness and endless nothingness. Yet she was there. She was the void and once awakened she created the entire universe out of her non being. Created life and death, and everything in between. The ‘Samsara’ she manifested out of ‘Maya’ is like a vast sea of the unknown and she was the only guide who could help us to traverse that sea without getting lost and drowning. She is the peril and she is the saviour. She is the void and she is the ‘Tara’ (Star) of light in that void; the duality which is intrinsic to nature.

In Sanskrit, ‘Star’ and ‘crossing’ are the most obvious meanings of the name ‘Tara’. By extension, the name Tara signifies she who guides or carries others across, who navigates others across, and she who protects, rescues, and liberates. Hence Tara’s role as a Devi imbues her with powers of compassion, protection from danger and providing enlightenment. In Tibet, Tara is referred to as ‘Dolma’ meaning saviour.

Tara’s connection to the sea is more strengthened through her inclusion in Hindu theology as a patron of the seas. The Puranas describe her as related to water bodies. This ‘Sea’ may be a very literal interpretation of the much deeper spiritual symbolism of Tara. If this ‘Samsara’ is the endless unknown sea and if each one of us are vessels embarking on a voyage to traverse that sea from our birth to death, we need a compass or a pole star to guide us on that journey. Tara is that pole star who keeps us on track if we trust her wisdom and learn the lessons we need to learn. She slashes through our thick cloud of ignorance and ego with her light of wisdom and saves us from ourselves. The lotus she holds (mostly a blue lotus as seen in her popular iconography) is a symbol of purity, remaining unsoiled in even the most polluting of environments and acts as a constant reminder to us that enlightenment can exist in the world even if the environment is corrupt and polluted.  

Tara is glorified as the 2nd fierce manifestation of Sati, just after Kali, as a Dasa Mahavidya (Ten cosmic wisdoms) in Hindu mythology but Tara’s origins can be traced to ancient Goddesses like Ishtar, Astarte, Isis and Aphrodite, due to the derived similarities in attributed powers, symbolism and ritual practices. All these goddesses were linked with water bodies in some ways and the symbolism of stars or planets. The same connections are easily traceable to the Christian attributes of Mother Mary also known as ‘Stella Maris’ (Star of the Sea). Though such connections may be vehemently opposed and denied by religious zealots who enforce complete separation between Pagan religions and Christianity.

In Hindu Shaiva and Shakta (mostly Tantric) mythology, Tara is seen as a Mother Goddess. Known as another manifestation of Kali, the master of Time, Tara symbolizes the eternal and unfulfilled hunger that fuels life; the hunger to placate all desires and attain spiritual oneness with the Supreme Being. Like a star that perpetually consumes its own energy, Tara represents the never-ending desires that fuel all life. Hindu oral mythology states that other than appearing with the Dasa Mahavidyas, Tara appeared singularly during the pivotal churning of the ocean ‘Kshira Samudra’ (Ocean of Milk), details of which are related in Vishnu Purana. In this legend, Shiva drank the powerful destructive poison ‘Halaahala’ that surfaced from the churning of the ocean by Devas and Asuras without allowing it to go below his neck, thus saving the world from destruction and earning the appellation of 'Neelakanttha'. As a result, Shiva was incapacitated from the effect of the poison and lost consciousness. The Mahadevi took the form of Tara and came to Mahadeva’s aid. She took the supine body of Shiva on her lap and just like a mother breast fed him, her milk acted as an antidote to the poison, and he recovered. This myth also alludes to the myth in which Shiva stops the rampaging Kali by becoming an infant and crying loudly in the blood soaked battlefield. Seeing the baby, Kali's maternal instincts were roused and her rage and blood thirst subsided and she nursed the infant Shiva. In both cases, Shiva assumes the position of an infant in relation to the goddess.

In the 6 sixth century C.E., during the era of the Pala Empire, Tara was adopted into the Buddhist pantheon as an important Bodhisattva figure. Not coincidentally, this was just a few centuries after the Prajnaparamita Sutra had been introduced into what was becoming the Mahayana Buddhism of India.

Tara in the form of the Great Mother Goddess shares strong links with many Hindu goddesses, such as Druga and Kali. The similarities in iconography between Kali and Tara can’t be missed and they are often worshipped as one and the same. They both stand upon a recumbent Shiva, or a corpse. While Kali’s body is depicted in black, Tara is mostly depicted in blue. Both are either naked or wear animal skin (mostly tiger) or a skirt of severed human limbs. Both wear a garland of severed human heads or skulls. Both have a lolling tongue oozing blood from their mouths. Furthermore, like the Goddess Kali, Tara in her Hindu context enjoys drinking blood, whether Deva, Asura, human or animal is of little consequence. The only distinctive feature of Tara is her pot belly and sometimes she is depicted holding a pair of scissors instead of a ‘Kharga’! No doubt her appearance is fearsome and through this fierceness she subdues the ego and commands complete surrender. Her three most famous forms are Ekajata, Ugratara, and Neelasarsvati.

In Buddhist narrative Tara is introduced through the legend of Princess Jnanacandra (moon of wisdom), daughter of Tathagata Dundubhisvara (sound of drum). She performed ritualistic practices for attaining enlightenment for such a long time that the celestial monks advised her to obtain a male body in order to become a bodhisattva. The princess rejected the monk’s advice and vowed to pursue the bodhisattva path in female form stating that "There is neither man nor woman nor self nor personhood nor notion of such. Attachment to [the designations] ‘male and female’ is meaningless, and deludes worldly people with poor understanding… men have always desired enlightenment but not a single woman strives for the benefit of sentient beings. Therefore, I shall follow this path as a woman as long as samsara exists.” In due process she was elevated to the form of Tara.

Both the Hindu and Buddhist legends have one thing in common: Shakti, the strength of the feminine energy and how it defies patriarchal misogyny. Tara as the mother suckles an incapacitated Shiva and nourishes him back to full power. Shiva in the male god tradition is the all-powerful and often destructive force which causes ‘pralay’ if enraged. Such a masculine force needing to be revived by the feminine force from the brink of destruction is quite a difficult concept to digest and acknowledge for many who uphold patriarchy. Patriarchy does not acknowledge that masculinity can be weak and vulnerable to begin with, so drawing strength from femininity at such a vulnerable moment seems to be even more dishonourable. Princess Jnanacandra rejecting the need for a male body to become a bodhisattva also challenges the almighty masculinity driven religious practices and successfully creates a place of reverence for female bodied bodhisattvas. The sad truth though: the fight for femininity to prove its power, again and again, in comparison and in competition with masculinity is still as much a reality as it was in those ancient times! The need for these narratives to resurface has never lost its importance.

References:

Books:

Beyer, Stephen (1978). Cult of Tārā. University of California Press.

Kinsley, David. Hindu Goddesses: Vision of the Divine Feminine in the Hindu Religious Tradition. India: Motilal Banarsidass.

Online sources: 

https://www.newworldencyclopedia.org/entry/Tara

https://kashgar.com.au/blogs/gods-goddesses/tara-a-beautiful-goddess-for-a-not-so-beautiful-world

Monday, January 16, 2023

Criminal Culture (5) - Stone that 'Sinner'

 



9x13 inches; Watercolour, pen and ink over graphite pencil on handmade paper (Click on image to enlarge)

I have lied,

I have lived a lie,

I have envied

Those who could love

Without shame or fear,

Anger nagging me

Up the wall of creepy loathing!

I have eaten my own words

And broken shards of promises,

Cut through the tongue of desire...

To find peace in your embrace is taboo!

To find bliss in your kiss, immoral?

For the love of god and honour, you slay

My love of a human as sin?

Monday, January 9, 2023

Criminal Culture (4) - 'Sala Chhakka'

 




9x13 inches; Watercolour, pen and ink over graphite pencil on handmade paper (Click on image to enlarge)

I walk down the road

Stepping to the beat

Of your insults and gibes.

The side long glances,

Disgust rising with bile,

A lingering threat of

Courting harm for my

Denial of nonexistence!

“Sala Chhakka...”spat out

Your failure to define me!

It falls flat, I turn the corner

Resuming my well-rehearsed moves!

I have lost enough life practicing

Not to justify your limitations!

Friday, April 15, 2022

Isolation

 









20.5x28.5 inches; Watercolour, pen and ink over graphite pencil on handmade paper (Click on image to enlarge)

 

Alone, but

Not like an ant

Wandering far

From the marked trail,

Way laid by the call of a Siren,

Unable to find its way back

To the scent of its people,

Going in circles for days,

Still hopeful

Unless a boot stamps

The life out of it.

Or like a bee

Buzzing around for hours

Inside a glass jar

In a candy shop,

Trapped by the lure of

Sweet promises,

Separated from its kin,

Finding death in the hands

Of a fly swatter.

 

But alone

Like lovers in a crowd,

Majnun in the desert,

Like the naive victim

In love with the tormentor.

Like seeking safety

Curling up in a closet,

Marooned on an

Uninhabited Island

Of one’s own inhibitions,

Or walled up within

A fortress in one’s head,

Avoiding the possibilities

Of infection,

Of failure, rejection and hurt.

Isolation

Of the unwanted;

Preventing what may happen

Deduced from what

We fear to become.

 

The plague trespasses

Over the land of

‘Happily-ever-after’

Leaving behind

A sole survivor.