Eloquent souls were ravaged in the stampede. Every voice became bleak and insanity crawled to the bones. The idea of love is still suspended and tender hearts twirl mid-air. All my belongings are trapped in there, let me call someone who still bleat. He can then tell me stories about how pale the air is where we used to breathe, maybe can send raven if the longing clutches its claws deeper and engulfs him. It is okay, this all will still be part of me and my brows will not flinch while growling.
Whenever I look at the situation we all are trapped in, I get thoughts this dark. If you mistakenly think that dark represents negative thoughts, then I can take immense pleasure in correcting you. The colour black gives out the seriousness of the whole situation, which in this case is the popular culture we are living in. Everything being digitalized, marketized and globalized, we lost the sense of who we actually are. People are becoming anti-social while being active on multiple social media platforms, emotions are becoming vague while they are sent in abundance to each other as graffiti. The hypocrisy of society is making its way home in our brains through our own hands, while we sit around the corner thinking of how ‘advanced’ we have become. But in midst of all this havoc, some old souls are trapped within the ever-going race of millennials.
When we talk about an artist, about his poetry, about his painting, about his composition, about his character, about his story; we easily assume this coming of age saga of digital markets and instant results, he must be fortunate to get recognition so easily, so soon. The only thing we don’t give a thought about is, how his art is withering amongst all the hype of easy money. Monetizing art is a very stray way to decay a society, while the artist has to live and relive his art’s slow death. The question I often ask myself is, where is the place where I can find poetry again?
The mighty science and its applications may have deduced the human efforts or it may have brought ease to our living, but the backbone of every civilization is its art and the minds who burn themselves to give meaning to the society. If the quintessential serendipity of artists is once lost in the classic tales, no society can or will be able to build a fortune out of those AI bots.
“In a world full of trends, I want to remain a classic.” – Iman