When a Wood Elf turns into a City Hulk

30,000 feet below,
the rise and fall of lush green landscapes
was slowly replaced with symmetrical patches of predictability.
Where once she stood,
swathed in mist and warm morning sunlight,
stand towers that will perhaps broadcast my elegy.
The wood elf slowly turning into a city hulk.
And my only wish is not to land,
but crash-land into the bosom
of that very viridian valley
plush with the scarlet of rhododendrons.
in whose glory Minivets sang.

Mt.IsyLLiS | Mother of Mountains


Mt. IsyLLiS (Graphite on paper)

I have endlessly wallowed
in strange rivers of pain
that’ll run dry when I want it to.
And today is that day,
for I hear a new song
that birds sing for me.
The sun is out after incessant rains
and birds are sun-bathing,
and they’re all singing the same song.
I am digging a deep hole in the earth,
sowing this seed of suffering and pain.
I’ll water it with my tears.
And what will grow will be
a tree of eternal love and hope.
Birds will build their nests in it,
and they will sing the same song
to their fledglings – of love and hope.
I have become
that very mother of mountains
through which were carved
caves that became homes to creatures of love,
through which flow rivers of hope
that greened all that it touched.
I am that very mother of mountains
and my name is Mt.IsyLLiS.

Mother of all mountains

A long train journey
through dull cityscapes,
and dry deserts of humanity.
There wasn’t much outside to see,
but within there were landscapes
waiting to be trekked on.
There were mind-scapes
waiting for their contours to be drawn.
So I pulled the shutters down
and set out on a journey within.
As my body moved along the railway tracks,
my pen did on the smooth landscape
of an ivory cartridge paper, 150 GSM.
It all started with a dot,
that became a line,
that soon turned into a swirl,
that transformed into patterns
colliding, mingling, merging,
running across, parallel, converging.
The art-scape became my world
my pen my own private jet
and we explored our private world
until we met the Mother of all Mountains –
from behind her face peaceful
a yellow sun rose.

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