Saturday, May 06, 2006


On Guard

Mom

















Lovely mother, as you can be
Took the care of me
When I was down, got fears
You are the one who loved me

When I failed, you encouraged me
Now I am a big boy
Still you are there for me

You are not just my mom
But my true loving friend
My love for you, will never end

You taught me right or wrong,
Words of you,
Is like a song.

Oh Mom I love you so
This love I cannot show
Wish I am there with you
Writing these lines for you

Gaurav Chauhan

Salute!

Death Watch












Watching death, as it surrounds me
seems I have found moksha
In the eternity of bliss
When my eyes will be closed
In the midst of time

People remember then they forget
They talk then they forget
Forgetfulness seems to be their attire
But I will sleep someday
In the midst of time

I don’t care, if you find it depressing
Because it’s undressing,
Day after day it’s watching you
In the midst of time

All my dreams, all my anticipation
Is falling in front of me
Watching death, as it surrounds me

Gaurav Chauhan


Nuthing More Stoneir

Tragic Landscape.

Everyone knows of it…everyday we hear a bit
Tragedy is a living sadness…surviving in a world of absolute madness
Breeding heartaches and pain…for crying peoples of every name
Time will heal the open wounds…but again tragedy strikes homes
Hurting hearts cry out…as tragedy moves continuously about
Still life onward proceeds…as tragedy sows its painful deeds
Things could have been worse…considering the tragic burst
Thank God for life…in the mist of tragedy's strife


Dennis Arthur Dames
Mask

This is from one of the photograph I sketched of world war II. The soldiers used to cover their face and the horses with mask, as to prevent inhalation of Mustard Gas.
Some expriences of soldiers itself:

In 1918 kingsley Martin had to treat soldiers that had been attacked by German mustard gas.
It was our first experience of mustard gas. The men we took were covered in blisters. The size of your palm most of them. In any tender, warm place, under the arms, between the legs, and over the face and neck. All their eyes were streaming, and hurting in a way that sin never hurts.

One of the soldier, Wilfred Owen, Dulce et Decorum est (1917) wrote a poem about Gas Attacks:



Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs, And towards our distant rest began to trudge. Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots, But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind; Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots Of gas-shells dropping softly behind. Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! An ecstasy of fumbling, Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time, But someone still was yelling out and stumbling And floundering like a man in fire or lime. Dim through the misty panes and thick green light, As under a green sea, I saw him drowning. In all my dreams, before my helpless sight, He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning. If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace Behind the wagon that we flung him in. And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin; If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.


Proud

isn’t it what we sometimes all get driven tothat edge where our back’s against the wallwe can’t see any way of returningso we run forward in spite of it allwe sublimely run for our livesand loudly embrace the fallIts all about running for your lifeAnd they’ll ask when you stood there tall and proudDid you jump or were you pushedneither you’ll say to the nervous crowdyou sang like a bird in flight you sang becausefinallyyou were living out loud

Brazen Hussy


Past

Water under the bridge,Flow away to be forgotten.
Water standing still below,Stagnant, muddy bottom.
Water from the sky above,Swiftly cleansing stream.
Water under the bridge,Time again to dream.

Lloyd Klumpp

Eclisped

I made this sketch with a thought, that this time he suceeded in touching the sun without melting his feathers, because it was eclipsed, he touched and came back.

All that you touchAll that you see
All that you tasteAll that you feelAll that you loveAll that you hateAll you distrustAll that you saveAll that you giveAll that you dealAll that you buybeg, borrow or stealAll you createAll you destroyAll that you doAll that you sayAll that you eateveryone you meetAll that you slighteveryone you fightAll that is nowAll that is goneAll that's to comeand everything under the sun is in tunebut the sun is eclipsed by the moon.

Pink FLoyd


Young Marine

Its from one of the photographs of Vietnam War. This young Marine is waiting to be depolyed in a battleground. The smile on his face, has give me the impression, and i tried to think what must be going in his mind at the time this photograph is took. The fear of death, sound of blast, passing planes, death of his beloved friend. I always admired these people, as they are so close to the most powerful fear, yet smiling and enjoying life to the fullest.



The Lost Love.

Dont Let your lost love to be like this. Its a illustration of my previous post "Love". Dont try to bind it, Just let it fall free. And you will find yourself in love. I took time to understand this aspect of Love. But when I learned it, it makes me smile all the time as a remembrance. Here is one poem by Thomas Campbell about love and freedom.

Freedom and Love How delicious is the winningOf a kiss at love's beginning,When two mutual hearts are sighingFor the knot there's no untying!
Yet remember, 'midst your wooingLove has bliss, but Love has ruing;Other smiles may make you fickle,Tears for other charms may trickle.
Love he comes and Love he tarriesJust as fate or fancy carries;Longest stays, when sorest chidden;Laughs and flies, when press'd and bidden.
Bind the sea to slumber stilly,Bind its odour to the lily,Bind the aspen ne'er to quiver,Then bind Love to last for ever.
Love's a fire that needs renewalOf fresh beauty for its fuel;Love's wing moults when caged and captured,Only free, he soars enraptured.
Can you keep the bees from ranging,Or the ringdove's neck from changing?No! nor fetter'd Love from dyingIn the knot there's no untying.

Friday, May 05, 2006


Love


For me Love is freedom and freedom is love. If there is no freedom, there is no love. Our consciousness exist as a freedom, for itself, that can transcend any element that is not part of the present consciousness. The human being is a freedom that is able to detach itself through a "nihalting withdrawal." This means that person who talk, with others and lives in the world with people can choose at any moment to alter the world because its his world to alter through his freedom. This may happen because the possiblity for anything has underneath it an implicit nothingness. As consciousness considers all other objects and existence, it realizes that none of it needs to exist. The consciousness may find these objects to exist elesewhere or not at all. Even our pheromones stops responding to same person after three years. Love cannot be acquired or bought from somewhere, you cant control it, its like a flow of river which makes itw own path, if you try to bind it, it results in problems. love means to move on. Getting inspired by the one you love and move on, and get inspired again. Its a inspiration which needs a constant change.

Ideas from Osho, Susan Linich.
Amir.

This person name is Amir. I saw him resting, in some historical monument in New Delhi. The posture he was lying, attracted me alot. I stopped my car, walked slowly towards him, taking care not to wake him up. I took a silent photograph of him. Then he woke up, I cursed myself I disturbed a sleep of such a calm man. He looked at me and said how are you? To my suprise he was talking in english. You dont expect a poor person usually in india speaking english. It means he is educated. He has this pile of bottles collected in a bag, which he was using as his pillow. And he is going to sell his pillow in the evening for food. His eyes were swollen because of eye flu. I told him to wait, I went to a medical store bought an eye drop for him, returned and gave it to him. He was very happy. Then he told me about the mistakes he did in his life because of that he is now suffering. I never forgot him, I sat with him for atleast 2 hours. A friend for 2 hours. :-)
Moustache

This is from one of my Photographs as in previous post Nomad. I was walking through a market in India, and I saw this person, he was new in delhi, and he was looking for an address. This person mosutache intrested me alot. I went to him, asked him If I can take his photograph, he was more than happy. But still I couldnt help him with the address, which I regret. I sat with him for a while, had a chat, he belonged to some village, came to the city, to cherish his dreams.


Nomad


I come from a people who are condemned to wander through strange lands. Three days they walked in the shadow of Babel lost among the fog of its speech. I inherit from their time the stuttering of their attempts.
Of my race I possess the trait of the absence that gives me away. You ask me therefore to declare myself beyond my blood but, before the storm, before the floods, before the gaze, before my orphanhood, before the fires, before the shadows that preceded those fires, there was a before that my memory asks a ransom for, but, my accent cannot return to its song.
I have arrived too late the rains have passed, the rivers have returned to their source, the cities have raised themselves on the horizon, and the entrance is forbidden to me
Here, at its doors I wait for the resurrection of my memory into an I that I was
And therefore you ask me to renounce my names my blood my heritage and to disguise myself with your voice and declare myself beyond it all
in this language foreign to my heart my race continues in search of the tongue lost before infancy.


Dive.

I sketeched it with a thought, that its about a individual, who always recieved thorns and fire all around him. One day, He decided to die, so he finds the highest peak from where he can jump. When he reached there he got scared, it was a long to way to go. But eventually he decided he came here to die. He looked downwards, and he saw a circle surrounded by thorns and fire, he told himself this circle could be a mirage, if its, then he will land into the sea of fire and he will be burned, but he dived and he is still in air, havent reached that Circle Of Hope.