With the fire in his belly
With rotund face charmed by a lass
he declared the love for the Gods on his flute,
behind the veils of a dystopian heart
he hid the charms of the Mediterranean
that would he divulge with a moment
every thought and every emotion
that he insanely felt like a begotten ape
off the soil of the earth.
Now brave enough to seek God
in his slender frame of a sunken man
he would take the ships across the seas
looking for knowledge and the wisdom
which he brought home and now played
on his flute the symphonies of time with
a manner of Lord Amen!
Wanted a tambourine sound on a guitar
silently to pluck the real power off the chords
and play the Nordic song of separation
As is the air waft with the scent of eloping rain
Wait! Listen to my heartbeat and then strum the wire
to the exact melody of fortune for the businessman
becoming something else, an igloo to begin with and dance
forlorn with a long face drawn in favor of rendezvous
under the railway bridge where we light the fire with a beer
and to close the pugmarks, we sprinkle the snowy residue
and it is abandoned to the Guitar beat, the gypsy song
which you shared with and rushed off with coffee
while I kept on beating the guitar till the morning
I supress the kiss of the woods under my feet
as the last song is played on the spooky Guitar beat!
In the jocular vein, I proposed to thee
my daunting task of meeting a lion
in tiger’s den when suddenly you retreated
and I was dumbfounded as in which
way the cold-hearted wind blows till you
lifted your eyes in the eastwards
a narrow panorama runs through
did I realise the time is a bitter friend
and when lion stumbles to roar
as when lambs would be near
and we do have to part away
as always in stubborn silence
Artless though we seem, we, in fact, have repudiated art in favour of arty reproductions of life that art appears to be missing from our life. Hardly in today’s creations, we come across a deep artistic fulfilment that we do not realize the object as intrinsically artistic though we seem to enjoy it more or less. Painting it seems is almost dead, so is sculpture as we have engaged more or less in technology, and cinema in an effort to compete with technology hardly produces any meaningful artistic productions.
The result of lack of artistic development has made us escaping the aesthetic judgement of beauty for the complex nervous mechanism that produces any artistic impression leaves us more or less in fear of attaining sexual gratification, as we see art as competing for sexual fulfilment of life. In art we see our basic instincts floundering for fulfilment as the lack of good art has set up lower artistic standards and consequently has resulted in depleting aesthetic judgements.
Consequently, we are moving towards becoming artless scoiety, the society which though produces artistic objects yet is artless. So basically the categories to which the work of art could belong are depleting with time so that there is difficulty in determining the work of art unlike in the past when there were subsequent movements describing the underlying work like surrealism. Today there is no conception of time as free in the sense an artist hardly deems to be indulging in the idleness of moments before producing the work of art. In the fast-paced technological world there seems to be very little freedom of will to produce a genuine piece of art and we indeed are becoming an artless society in contrast to the times when there was not any significant technology though artistic sense was great.
To prove God exists we need a hypothesis and a premises from within which we would argue.
Hypothesis– Everything in the world if we take the world as the case, has opposites in the form of maxima and minima. So we have maximum knowledge and minimum knowledge which we could call wisdom and ignorance respectively. Likewise we have maximum power and minimum power. Maximum knowledge we call omniscience and maximum power we call omnipotence. We believe God has attributes of omniscience and omnipotence. If we are able to prove omniscience and omnipotence exist in life likewise we would deduce God exists.
Premises- We talk about the form of God and conclude the form in which God could exist. There is music in 11 dimension hyperspace which is hidden from us and which we could call as the form of God. This definition of God is concluded from String Theory. Now the spheres have music which listens to itself and is self conscious such that all the heavenly bodies listen to music of String Theory. This music could be called Divine.
Proof– Now if we imagine, God made man in his image then the music must be resonant in man which we feel as omnipresent in every individual which could be thought as stored at some frequency in every individual. Thus music we could say is omnipresent. Any thing that is omnipresent must be omnipotent. Like a ruler who is present in every corner of the world is more powerful than the ruler present in only one place. Likewise the music of spheres is omnipresent and hence omnipotent. Hence it must have infinite wisdom. Thus we could say from our hypothesis God exists.
Conclusion– If String Theory is believed to have vibrations in 11th dimension, we could effectively conclude it is music and God exists in the from of music of spheres thus we could assume God exists.
Tango is for the two bodies in close proximity swaying to the beat of the drum or music which is affordable for the occasion. It is a sign of liberation, liberation from the social strata. It is essentially an expression for freedom; freedom from oppression as discovered by the black America and to top it with the mood of artistic expression comes the music of the blues. Recently Cairo celebrated a moment befitting its ancient past, embracing Tango as the legal expression for the revolution.
The signs of revolution could be read from the beats of the blues music as the liberated or would be liberated enjoy sexual closeness while relishing political openness. A man dancing by the side of a woman poses a challenge to the political establishment as he ignores all the hangups of politics to enjoy the sexual freedom with his partner. Lately Cario was a witness to an uprising marking the age of enlightenment finally dawning in the erstwhile ancient civilisation.
Blues music is the chance to drink beer from the bar artistically and enjoy the favour of love as endowed by the host bar as a painter would exhibit the nudes on the streets of Paris, marking the breaking off with the social protocol. This enchantment with art and politics was shown by Cairo Opera in its bid to uplift the social,political and artistic scene of the country and bring out the truth to the people of the world.
There was no hiccup as the crowd broke into a free dance where the women and men left behind the repression of past and eased into happy dancing and the blues music as organised by Cairo Opera was an icing on the top. For how long there could live a suffering when the popular media is limited with its pack of entertainment. It was Cairo Opera that let the intermingling of the populace a big event and the blues music a chance to express artistically the political and social tendencies to break free for the regime to realise how effective a collective resolution of fun and politics could be.
Jazz sprang up like bootleg liquor growing in the veins of wannabe rockers or dancers wooing the floor that is comparatively darker than one would assume in the beginning.
She had expressed a faint glimmer in living a life of slut beseeching Jazz as the soul of man. She whored in the districts like red wine being bootlegged and young men willing to take to the dance floor on the beats of much sinister blues music and taste the wine licked like honey from a honeycomb.
Yelling to the crowd, She opened her arms as if the whole sky would elope in her basket which she carried only to carry blues records but Jazz was the spirit and she was young for it. The rich men wanted more of love originating at a back burner to what the records play on the streets, a binding courage to crash the world with a symphony that is born on the by-lanes of Paris, mixed with the Parisian painting backdrops as many painters flourished on the whim of her dance.
If Madame Bovary could live the day, Voltaire could live the night, the nightclub must fancy the underground Jazz, Jazz born in secret meeting places as an expression to the wild interest of love. Dressed in a black polka dress which was more of a translucent silk, she fell in the arms of the crowd, jeering the death of a rival in the mischievous bar fight. The David Harley parked in the middle of the dance floor, a fresh black young man on the flute, her dancing steps on the floor, a beer in the open while a lasting night in the offing was all a Hamiltonian dance club could aspire. But I had met her as a replacement for Rita Hayworth and the bartender banned me the next day from consuming music mixed with desire that made paramount romance more endearing than death.
Death was plenty in the era of First World War when Jazz mushroomed as an expression to beat the cultural revolution thus making the soul as centrepiece of any composition. He was rich enough to woo the young bootleg dancer, puffing at the air as if there were only few moments left into the night and he was right to sleep with her on the dance floor.