Sunday, August 25, 2013


A walk around all things poetic and some hard and supple musings on the literariness and life of it. My inspirations and their transformation into poetry. 

Several inspirations hover in this invisible place around existence.They waver, they flicker but they stay ingrained to a vital part of me...
of them are...
Frida Kahlo

quotes from Frida
“I paint my own reality. The only thing I know is that I paint because I need to, and I paint whatever passes through my head without any other consideration.” 

“Leaving is not enough. You must stay gone. Train your heart like a dog. Change the locks even on the                                                                                                              house he's never visited. You lucky, lucky girl. You                                                                                                       have an apartment just your size. A bathtub full
of tea. A heart the size of Arizona, but not nearly so arid. Don't wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problems are papier mache puppets you made or bought because the vendor at the market was so compelling you just had to have them. You had to have him. And you did. And now you pull down the bridge between your houses, you make him call before he visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic. Make the first bottle you consume in this place a relic. Place it on whatever altar you fashion with a knife and five cranberries. Don't lose too much weight. Stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. And you are not stupid. You loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street.”

“I paint myself because I am so often alone and because I am the subject I know best.” 


Sonnet XVII
I do not love you as if you were brine-rose, topaz,

or barbed carnations thrown off by the fire.
I love you as certain hidden things are loved,
secretly, between night and soul.
I love you like the flower-less plant
carrying inside itself the light of those flowers,
and, graced by your love, a fierce perfume
risen from earth, is alive, concealed in my flesh.
I love you without knowing how, whence, when.
I love you truly, without doubts, without pride,
I love you so, and know, no other way to love,
none but this mode of neither You nor I,
so close that your hand over my chest is my hand,

so close they are your eyes I shut when I sleep.


“Then summer came. A summer limp with the weight of blossomed things. Heavy sunflowers weeping over fences; iris curling and browning at the edges far away from their purple hearts; ears of corn letting
their auburn hair wind down to their stalks. And the boys. The beautiful, beautiful boys who dotted the landscape like jewels, split the air with their shouts in the field, and thickened the river with their shining wet backs. Even their footsteps left a smell of smoke behind!” 

― Toni MorrisonSula

“At some point in life the world's beauty becomes enough. You don't need to photograph, paint or even remember it. It is enough. No record of it needs to be kept and you don't need someone to share it with or tell it to. When that happens — that letting go — you let go because you can.” 
 Toni MorrisonTar Baby


― Arundhati RoyThe Cost of Living