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We love incomplete stories, or rather we fear the end that is not different, that wasn't written just for us, before anyone else. We know ourselves, we know each other in a way the other generations don't. Not because we're first of a kind. Not because we believe so too. Why, you ask? We don't know. Not because we're young. Not because you're old. We don't know. Krishna Samhita, in her poem below, takes you through more of the people we are, we could be, we want to be.
Before the words, here's a beautiful oil-on-canvas painting by Sreejith, to get your minds and hearts overflowing with colours, like we do.
The Generation That Is
We’re a generation
Whose palms wear skins of gadgets,
Leaving eroding imprints
Of crumbling creativity
Blotted in stains of
Venom-black blood.
We’re a generation
That prefers to be veiled
In known infidelity,
Fearful to penetrate
The buried crevices
Of our flimsy mirror-hearts.
We’re a generation
Willfully eclipsed in faces
Varied more than the moon’s phases.
Our chosen delusion – a survival solution,
But truly just a calculated diversion.
We’re a generation
Mourning the present,
Lifeless puppets of passed times
Stumbling upon the wistful shores of
Tomorrow’s distant horizon.
We’re the generation astray,
The one with lost cause;
And forgotten muse –
Looking with squinted, grey eyeballs
Through smog covered minds,
Marinated in judgement
In stereotyped jars
On religious shelves
Buried in hidden shadows,
Safe from the rays
Of humane conscience.
We’re the generation
With heavy eyelids,
Tied to pulleys of
Deceit and betrayal.
Ignorant alas!
Of our own true shades
Crushed between our reserves of
Chameleon colours.
And perhaps we’re the generation
Awaiting our rebirth,
Blessed again with human virtue,
Bathing again in creative waters,
Seeing again a filter-free world
Finding again a life-giving muse
And perhaps this time,
Holding on to what truly matters.
***
For the love of art,
Krishna Samhita and Sreejith
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