Frida Kahlo’s stirring existence

I am that clumsy human, always loving, loving, loving. And loving. And never leaving.

Frida Kahlo is one of the most influential personalities of the last century that left her work behind to inspire and be admired. There is something extraordinary about this artist — the deepness and emotions that her work conveys are beyond words. Her creation reaches the heart of the audience and struck them to relish the moment.

Kahlo lived her life like art. As a young woman left bedridden, she developed her own style and taste. Leaving the world behind, she was creating honest art. As she said, ‘They thought I was a surrealist, but I wasn’t. I never painted dreams. I painted my own reality.’ Not only her work but her life in itself is an inspiration. Brimmed with desires, turmoil, and anguish, her paintings let the audience touches these emotions. A creator coinciding art and life.

The words, written for her lover speaks the passion and fondness. Kahlo married her lover Diego Riviera and the couple traveled the world together. Their love was mysterious and transcendent that brought pain with numerous infidelities as well as joy from deep yearning.

I ask you for violence, in the nonsense, and you, you give me grace, your light, and your warmth.

She tried to grasp the love, understand it, and feel it. But the immensity was difficult to hold or to even see. She wanted to draw her love. Concretize her feelings.

Frida & Diego Riviera, 1931

I’d like to paint you, but there are no colors, because there are so many, in my confusion, the tangible form of my great love…

I notice that I’m with you. At that instant full of sensations, my hands are sink in oranges, and my body feels surrounded by your arms.

There is chaos in her soul. Emotions leading to confusion that makes everything rapid and electric. To understand the deepness, one often dives deep — amid the abyss, filth, and fear. This starts with spirit and courage. To understand love, there must be courage and willingness as she said,

Only one mountain can know the core of another mountain.

It wasn’t about love only. There is something else that characterizes humanity — struggles and suffering. She went through great physical and mental suffering throughout her life. And she poured the pain in her work,

My painting carries with it the message of pain.

Fighting with our inner demons is another struggle. Ruminating over secrets, regrets, guilt, weaknesses, and desires waves its own path to agony. To beat it up, we operate different tactics —oppressing, denying or giving up.

I tried to drown my sorrows, but the bastards learned how to swim, and now I am overwhelmed by this decent and good feeling.

But she had the strength to go on. An ability that makes us marvel at ourselves; how can we take in so much and swallow. Being resilient, after all, helps us progress day by day.

At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can.

Self-portrait with loose hair

Taking a step ahead, after learning to accept and see beyond our struggles, we drift toward noticing the struggles of humanity. There arises a desire to feel empathy and understand others’ emotions. Thinking about the poor and the unfortunate. We often forget that there exists greater pain, difficulties, different lives, and various perspectives.

Unfortunately, life is terrible for some people and a speck of thought and help can be the greatest deed to accomplish. Frida was conscious of this need and she perfectly summed up her feelings,

High society here turns me off and I feel a bit of rage against all these rich guys here, since I have seen thousands of people in the most terrible misery without anything to eat and with no place to sleep.
It is terrifying to see the rich having parties day and night while thousands and thousands of people are dying of hunger.

And she didn’t fear death: the obvious inevitable end and nothingness.

I hope the exit is joyful and I hope never to return.

Ode to women: Maya Angelou (I)

I’ve known some extraordinary women in my life. Known them through books, virtual or everyday life. Women who made me realize the beauty; the beauty of life and womanhood. I like to say that I have each part of these women, yet, they always inspire me to be authentic and original.

My mother, my favorite singer, my best friend, my teachers and favorite writers are my muses. Women who surround me and those who stir me. This is why when I read the verses of Maya Angelou, it feels like encountering a storm. A reality that shakes you up, a calamity that was bound to happen to revive you, to bring you back in existence. She comes to remind me of the value that love holds— love for yourself, trust and power that lies within a fragile body. The power that cannot be found at any other place and must not be given away.

She makes me believe that I don’t need anyone to appreciate me or to make me realize how capable or good I am. It is a lesson girl that you ought to learn by yourself. ‘You alone are enough. You have nothing to prove to anybody,’ she says.

When I feel crushed down by the standards of modern beauty; something that makes all of these pretty young women suffer. Suffer to the extreme point. But here she comes to whisper in the silent, dreary nights saying, ‘I’m not cute or built to fit a model size but I’m phenomenal.’ Waking us again from the dream of lies.

The magic lies in the eyes. She has the power, an absolute power, an inner potential that surpasses the world’s arrogance.

When I think about my first love; he with whom I never shared a word, yet he stays with me until the last breath of consciousness in the night. I feel bruised by my own feebleness, my own decisions, and my own emotions. I saw the enemy that doesn’t stand in front of me but stays inside of me. The greatest foe who can’t be beaten and can’t be a friend.

She appears again from the thick clouds of tangled thoughts. She came to console me; reminding the desires will change and dreams will fade away in the distant memory.

Men walk.
Knowing something.
Going someplace.
But this time, I will simply
Stand and watch.

She learned the lesson with a bitter experience. But she wrote it down to help us choose the right way. Saving us from the rough and tough path.

Not everything we desire is full of roses. Soft and delightful made just for us to walk. We can become blind to reality but only to the extent we want. But ‘life loves the liver of it.’ And you must think of living and learning from it.

A lost battle

It was a beautiful day
with the burst of dancing sunshine
moving cars 
autumn pink flowers
and a general blather
A perfect day 
whence nobody peeks in their heart
a dreary place 
to look into
yet the habitual one
can’t help
to wander
to explore
to agitate 
and
to be beaten
A fight
a continuous battle 
with themselves
with their nature
with their soul

To reach nothing
but a defeat

 This is why a man is his greatest enemy

Mistakes & Gratitude

A smile, a blessing. There have been days when the leaves flicker under sunshine bringing new hope and joy. I have been called upon to watch them, listen to them and pay attention to them. Make their presence worthy in this world. They seem to bless the earth but they go unnoticed widely. We, fool human beings, take the beauty for granted. Their loveliness, their color, their presence is divine.

Then there comes a gloom in some dry cold country. A lonely place. An abandoned countryside. Old people are roaming there, still, hoping and clinging to their motherland. The country is known for its art. Art made ages ago. A remembrance of the past. Past full of crusades, wars, and famine. Yet, people are proud. Because they are ignorant. Birds shriek in dryness. The dryness that conquers the air. It is heavy and the sound is gloomy. The day settles at 15 and the darkness evades the entire village. Sun disappears behind the mountain and those bare valleys let it sunk deep within them. Swallowing it like a demon of darkness evades the light. People hide in their hood shutting themselves. Blinds fell and the artificial lights illuminate.

Then the memory works, fabrication initiates. His smile came back and his memory conquers the mind. That was a beautiful day. A heavenly presence was blessing me. Blessed me for a single day and left me behind as a cursed demon forced to live without his presence. May he be happy. May he reaches heights.

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Lost Love Saga

 

New eve new love
White flakes brown shrubs
Sun dwindles children mingles
It’s a happy day

Smiles are shining
Beauty is lurking
Still, the heart is sad
the lack is vast
colossal & heavy

Body is depressed
and these eyes are suppressed
chalky-white with a wild-rest

How this void will be filled
That’s the question whispered with a thrill

O my dear
My dearest
Emotions are curses
I say
love is evil

Yet, I desire to
ignite the flames
initiate our love tale
but I fear
it will end me up
in a mournful cage

This way concludes
A love saga that happened to be
AS COMMON AS STUPID

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Pleasure of reading

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Sleep is good, he said, and books are better- George Martin

“What better occupation, really, than to spend the evening at the fireside with a book, with the wind beating on the windows and the lamp burning bright…Haven’t you ever happened to come across in a book some vague notion that you’ve had, some obscure idea that returns from afar and that seems to express completely your most subtle feelings?” – Gustave Flaubert

 

Image result for book and fireplace pinterest melancholy

“What a miracle it is that out of these small, flat, rigid squares of paper unfolds world after world after world, worlds that sing to you, comfort and quiet or excite you. Books help us understand who we are and how we are to behave. They show us what community and friendship mean; they show us how to live and die.” — Anne Lamott

Sweet Beats (Part I)

Those eyes, beautiful
and delightful,
caged me forever.
My heart flew
away with joy
and
left me bereft like ever.

I cried, whined, sobbed
and declared,
It was you!
King of my dreams and
cause of my misery.

It felt like a havoc in my dear heaven.

There was a strange
pleasure whatsoever.
And gratefulness
for my fancies.
Hate lacked in the end,
I say,
in my lament defense.
And I’m again thankful
to you, my love,
for endowing me
with such a great sense.

For once and forever.

Such intensity within
those eyes,
smiling and loving
glazing and shining
will be my treasure forever.

Untold Story

At the root of all misery is unfulfilled desire- Scott Hahn (Pinterest)

There is a strange weight prowling inside my body. An agonizing suffocation of a feeling that is left untold. It was there for years- shut down in a remote corner of my heart. I tried to kill this cursed feeling, devastate it, murder it but it each time it emerges like an almighty angel.

We are all broken, that’s how the light gets in— Ernest Hemingway

I say it’s my inspiration- my muses, that makes me neurotic and help me down in work. This thought comforts me. But how do I say that this damned state is wretched and heartless- reminding me of the things I never had, the person I never had.

Coming back each night with its misery and sadness

My lifelong efforts haven’t been successful in repressing it as it came back last night and said, ‘Hey it’s you! I’m not only inside you but I’m you!’

Rupy Kaur: The Poet’s Voice

The writer who flourished from the Sikh diaspora and become one of the best known contemporary poets.

‘Milk and honey’, the New York Times best-seller is a first book written and published by Rupy Kaur who is now one of the most popular poets in the world. This writer emerged from the internet world. She is, as per Rolling Stone, the ‘Queen Of The Instapoets’.

It started in 2015 with an Instagram post in which she decided to open up and share a part (struggle) of being a woman. This was unconventional and was censored by Instagram. But Kaur didn’t stop and came to defend herself with the following response.

As a result, Instagram allowed the post to reappear on its platform but this rift brought a lot of attention to Rupy. She has been addressing a theme that, despite being a natural side of femininity, is considered a taboo.

Kaur’s writing often touches the intense themes: love, sex, heartbreak, abuse, trauma, race and gender dynamics.

Her life, as a child of the immigrants, along with her Sikh background influences her writing immensely. Her choice to use the lowercase and periods only is an ode to her mother tongue (Punjabi) and an effort to preserve the equality and symmetry it creates.

She talks about the pain and struggles that Sikhs endured during the 1984 genocide, that pushed his father to flee to Canada as a refugee. The trauma and the assault about which Rupi Kaur writes traces back those women who have been violated and left behind bereft in that period.

Her poetry reflects the lives of those South Asian girls who are expected to be conservative and quiet. Girls who are supposed to be pure and purports the dignity of their families.

Rupi challenges this idea of the tranquil woman and writes about her longings. The love she craves and the mistakes she made. The ache that the lost love induces and the wounds that a strong soul heals.

Poets like her challenge the silences and express their beliefs, thoughts in a way that makes the other forms rather unconvincing.

There are criticisms of course, but I wanted to write this just to appreciate one voice that excites the society to delve deep into the issues that we often ignore.
And pay my regards to another woman who inspires to search our soul with the art of poetry and encourage other people to create their own authentic masterpieces.