‘Them’ Is The Theme

I spent two hours looking at paper, cloth, glass, paintings and installations. Staring, reading and feeling an immense gush of words coming toward me.
I’ve written some words down, disconnected and connected by ‘them’ and the dotted line.
‘Them’ being all the humans that created this art.’Them’ being all their influences.
India Art Fair 2017

……..
I’ve always moved with an open wind
rolled up but free
What is the ‘them’ though?
Circles is the theme

and choice the main under- theme

There’s always fear no?
No?
Yes.
A sudden breach of trust even in a public place

There’s a black and white fish hanging from the till and she screams a silent black
Grey.
……

I’m a little worried, what are these lines for?
Sharp like they’d draw blood
Cold and lust-less
For then, I have nothing to give.
That’s as lasting as  love shall be

Poor children on my silk dress.
Silk and poor old milk
is the colour of my dress
…….

When you have reached a height
A height high above
Higher than the high angle of the aerial shot
You’ll find yourself looking at your own house
Your own city
And it will only be a zigzag of colours. You’ll feel real dizzy for a long moment and you’ll even forgot that Raza made them.
Sketched, painted or stubbed
Overwhelmed you into further gooey puddles inside your mind
And your kind cannot take so much and

You sit down and look at the floor
on which you still see the reflection of your roof
…………

‘Robin’s’ genocide’

The terrible thumping of the blood.
The oppressed, the oppressor, the hungry for power
tall large small piles of human tongue and hands moving to only score a bit of that power
All I hear is the terrible thumping of the blood.
Terrible
so terrible.

Underwater fires and underwater mines if only they exploded above
I’d see them for the angels they are
The abomination of a chimera
Them the angel
……
Pulling down the ship that babbles
The babel tower
I will achieve and I will rise
Amass
All that we want
All those floors to the deck, the ship rising

Pink blood
Skin coloured
Paint
Will drip in your dreams
There are rooms
And we live there
There isn’t one time in this room
where we don’t breathe
Thinking is your curse
Trying to die is mine

I don’t look at other souls anymore
The exchange has become unnecessary
and evenly painful

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s