artes

I am drowning yet I wish I could drown further. I ask my friends what drowning feels like. They give me a sad laugh and walk past. Lately, I don't understand things around me. I was dying and someone who loved me said, “Live” and I became immortal. Maybe I loved them too. I don't remember their face. I do remember them leaving. They were stupid. They didn't realize how much relief there is in death until they left me in death. An end to the noise. An end to the corrosion. An end. An end. I hate so much about everything they stood for. I want to wear their bones as a crown. I have lived a thousand deaths. I last slept against some Banyan tree. It offered some faux camaraderie in its longevity. I bleed sometimes. It makes me cry. Fate plays this cruel game, masquerading my mortality. I hate you. You had no right to take what was mine. It was your greed. Your possessiveness that would not let me go. The worst part is, i only remember the worst of you. I can't remember the way you kissed me, I remember the way you kept me hostage. I can't remember how you held my waist and danced with me, I remember the vague memory of you leaving. I went to the sea after a long time. I thought of drowning. I couldn't breathe. It felt normal for a while. It made me close my eyes for a moment as my lungs filled with the saline. A thousand blades haven't made me feel this good. I knew what was coming when your curse pulled me to the surface, the waves hitting me, each like a slap to the face. Was this love? Some days I think you never loved me, maybe I was an object to you. Yours to possess as long as you lived, a prized possession. A possession but nothing more. Like an invader entering promised land, you took everything. It was in your divinity to take everything. You put me on fire, and left me to burn for eternity. I don't even have the energy to curse you anymore. Maybe I did love you.

Musings of Artes Blackheart. My ode to Daxayoni.

They are everywhere. They are overwhelming. They are inclusive. They occupy all the place in the world, yet, when we try to take over a single iota of space, they brand us as groomers, political ideologists or whatever the latest buzzword of the day is. Why do they have to be everywhere, in such high numbers, all the time? How come they get to live such easy lives, not having to be plagued by any idea of the very fact that they were born as they were meant to be, and that their identity correlated exactly to what society tells them to be? If we are indeed so free, why the hell is there no space for us, a space where we don't need to hide from eyes that look us up and down, staring into our fucking souls, a space where you are called slurs in hushed conversations. Why? Why do politicians ask for our heads when we just ask for our identity? Why do we have to give so many explanations just for our existence? Everything sucks here and I fucking hate it.

Musings of Artes Blackheart. My ode to Daxayoni.

Everything will be alright.

Not a day goes by, when I don't feel alien in this skin that is supposed to be mine. This skin doesn't belong in places set by those in power. This skin has to prove its purpose and capabilities to simply exist. The moment you acknowledge it, you condemn yourself to a life of tyranny and suffering.

Everything will be alright.

Your identity becomes such a pretense, you cannot realise where it started, you cannot understand what is real. Questioning becomes so frequent you question your entire existence when you breathe freely for a single second. How can you live with someone else, when you can't live with yourself? Were you ever meant to belong anywhere?

Everything will be alright.

I have heard myself asking “am I temporary to everyone; permanent to myself or permanent to everyone; temporary to myself” Motionless, you feel the rot curling up on your skin, desperate to break free. The world is moving so fucking fast, people are changing so goddamn fast, things are exchanging so terribly fast “there's not enough time, or I'm just wasting my time”, you shout into winds, that will lead where you want to go.

Everything will be alright.

You may not consider yourself to be very good or directionless in your pursuit, but its okay, youre still learning. Trained to be a hardened old soul, your heart is still a cherubin, untouched, and it dares to dream. You are seen, you are loved. Yes, they hurl abuses of confusion and faux disgust, but they never could see the beauty you were able to see in yourself. You've got the whole world in your pocket, child.

Everything will be alright.

Musings of Artes Blackheart. My ode to Daxayoni.

It's one of those dumb August nights again Not a wind in the sky, and the power's out I thought about you again today It isnt something you do. Is your memory of mine just a wisp of smoke? Sweet as the honey I taste, but overshadowed nonetheless? I am your cigarette butt You kiss me like your life depends on it Every breath Every kiss is one It delights you, it refreshes you As i burn Burn bright at your lips But when i can burn no more You throw my ashes away I truly am your spectator in the lowlights I know you love me, whatever that confounded idea of love you have in your mind I hate you for making me love you so deeply. I hate you for leaving me here with these people who won't let me sleep any more. If I could just close my eyes the world would disappear and I could stop hurting. I want to sleep. Make those people down stairs leave me alone and let me sleep. They gave me drugs to sleep once when I first knew, and in disbelief called them liars. They gave me more drugs to keep me calm and awake as I faced your body And saw it engulfed by flames and ashes spilled from fingers to the winds on this mountain we both once called home, in more innocent times.

There are no drugs now to numb the pain Sleep which beckons me deeper into oblivion has been withdrawn by constant company and chatter that goes on around me. I do not truly hear it, or understand it as I sit and stare at the macabre forced smiles. Their smiles and consoling words, like blades some blades are funny some cause history And history is every second in time. but the others, they have this tendency they lurk in the shadows a phantom of a shadow you don't know if you have them or if you need them or that it is a part of you. Where are you I wonder, will you still come for me? I would go happily just now, Even though the vital and living hands of so many try to hold me to this place, I would fly to you my love just to feel your embrace. I have read too much poetry of late. Perhaps I should share with you... Maybe you would find me there Just like we used to.

Musings of Artes Blackheart. My ode to Daxayoni.

Protyaborton; A tale of change, transition, reclamation and homecoming

তোমার নামে আমার যত উল্লাস তোমার নামে আমার হাথেখরি তোমার নামে আমার গালাগাল দেওয়া তোমার নামে আমার চিৎকার করে হুংকার দেওয়া তোমার নামে আমার মা এর কাছে কান্না তোমার নামে আমার ভয় পাওয়া বেদনা |

তোমার নামে আমার জন্ম তোমার নামে আমার মৃত্যু আমার ভালবাসা, আমার উচ্ছনে যাওয়া স্মৃতি আমার পড়ে যাওয়া, আমার উঠে দাড়ানো আমার বাড়ি তোমার কাছে, আমার বাড়ি তোমার নামে আমার ফেরত হওয়া তুমি |

তুমি হলে আমার কাঠগড়ায় দাড়ানো তুমি আমার না ঝুঁকে দাড়ানো তুমি আমার রক্তাক্ত শরীরের মিথ্যে তুমি আমার প্রেমের আদরের কাহিনী তুমি আমার বুকের পাথর তুমি আমার জলসার ছবি।

তুমি মাইকেল এর মধুসূদন হয়ে বাড়ি ফেরত তুমি সত্যজিৎ এর চা এর কাপ তুমি টেরেসার নীল শাড়ি তুমি দীঘার সমুদ্রের ভীড় তুমি কবির প্রথম প্রেম

তুমি তো মা, তুমি আমার ট্রান্সিশন তুমি আমার রক্ষাকবচ তুমি আমার তলোয়ার তুমি আমার লাল আকাশের নিচে ছুটে বেড়ানোর লাইসেন্স, তুমি আমার লাল রক্তের ভাষা।

তুমি আমার রক্ত, তুমি আমার কান্নার কবিতা। তুমি আমার বন্ধুর ডাক, তুমি আমার মৃত্যুর গান, তুমি আমার আকাঙ্ক্ষা, তুমি আমার সময়ের ঘড়ি। আমি তোমার কাছেই ফিরি, তুমিই আমার মা।

Musings of Artes Blackheart. My ode to Daxayoni.

i don't know how really to say this, but I really value things, I value places, value moments that take me back to sometime in my past, in our past, and it's just no matter how bad it is, how terrible that memory is, it really just helps me go back in time, because you know what, happiness mixed with hope, is literally something all of us take for granted some times. You look back, without questioning or just simply avoid certain things because you are scared of what they signify, and especially because they will lead you back in time, and there are times where you can't run, as reality is at your doorstep .Then, it hits you, out of nowhere, all your pain, all your rage, everything you ever set your mind to starts to fade in pursuit in that moment of nostalgic normalcy. In the end, don't we all look forward to that split-second where it feels like you're all safe and comfortable and it's alright, and you are young and in love again, and nothing ever goes wrong? I guess we are so afraid because we don't like what the moment after will bring. You are back to hating and crying. A person, once very close to me, said that hate is a really powerful but wasteful emotion, and that they don't have hate in their heart. Over time, i have allowed myself to accept that they were wrong. It's human to hate. It's human to be pissed at people who didn't do right by you or in your heart of hearts, you do feel and know that you didn't do right by them. And these moments may come and go, and it feels like all you ever wanted was to make everything go back to where it was, but then you remember why things aren't the way they used to be. You go back to the other side of that nostalgia coin and you feel every bit of the insult, the pain, the betrayal and the neglect you once faced, and it scars you just the way it did so long ago. You feel your blood boiling and your eyes watering up, the same way they did back then. You hate that they changed your definition of love, you hate that they didn't run mountains for you and the fact that you can't hold it against them. You hate your heart that it was willing to feel and go so deep and throw you into a void, from which, for the life of you, had no idea how to get out of. You hate that every time you view a specific piece of art or see the citylights at a certain angle or smoke a particular cigarette, they are going to be with you, whether you like it or not. Last year, I witnessed this artist live and they said that life, essentially, it sucks. It's way too much hurt and disappointment and anger, but at the end of the day, we keep living because we as humans, see beauty in things and we know how to value it. At the end of the day, we live for these small moments that bring us euphoria, moments that transcend time and justify everything that's wrong. And that's where is love is born, in those moments. Where everything is alright and you would go through hell to experience that. It's very fucking cruelly poetic but honestly, it is what it is. It's easy to tire of but futile to eradicate.

Musings of Artes Blackheart. My ode to Daxayoni.