“Where Elegance Of Tradition Whispers The Tale Of Artwork.”

“Where elegance of tradition whispers the tale of artwork.”

November’24, Bikaner House, New Delhi.

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born to be an abstract concept, forced to be a percievable entity

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— Love, Paruyr Sevak

[text ID: You have become so delicate / And vulnerable, / As if you're living without a skin. / - That's Love.

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— Jennifer Niven, All The Bright Places

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The town still haunts me, laced in lullabies, Where kin became the keepers of my fall. Their words were nettles dressed in silver light, Their love; a gilded cage like a funeral hall.

They laughed like witches dancing in the fire, While I, the ember, begged to turn to smoke. I breathed in brimstone dressed as blooming thyme, and woke each day beneath a phantom yoke.

The darkness kissed me soft, and made me kin. And though I flee, it lingers in my breath, that hallowed place, where all my wounds begin.

(Darjeeling’2021)

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Recents on Pinterest <3

(@sumedhachatterjee1505)

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He does not know, that the world pauses for him, breath held,

Watching the art of him falling, calling it beauty While he calls himself blank.

If only you knew, how spellbound I am for you, watching the chaos of you, turning into stillness,

Watching your sorrow as it knows how to make everything shine.

(Darjeeling’21)

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