Visual Artist & Photographer
Don’t starve yourself
Don’t starve yourself of yourself
Not your mind to feelings
Not your bones to nourishment
Not your will to do
Not your willingness to prove
Don’t starve your curiosity to grow
Or your ability to do more
Not your skin to love
Not your fingertips to touch
Not your laughter to the truth
Not your tears to the proof
Don’t starve yourself of yourself
And don’t starve.
Does this land call your name? Where you measured your height against a mango tree in the backyard. Carving your progress as seasons and years passed. You watched the same skies from the same window change as the earth rotated yet again. You counted the stars. You ran in the rain as the smell of soil and dust settled for the first time. You spun under the clouds and later flew amidst them. You held every hand under the sun. Skin as skin all as one.
What would you change? What would you grow from your finger nails and pores and toes? What would elevate your being to think louder, talk clearer? Would your goosebumps trace your dreams? Would your feet carry on like machines? Would you spread a faltering wing, one flap after another, until feathers sprout and tear? What would your mind look like in a pool of colour, circled by fish, enveloped in seaweed, submerged underwater? What would colour look like? What would your tongue darting outside its confines taste? Would sun rays burn holes in the softness of your flesh till the weakness of your bones screamed? Would you believe? Would you change a thousand minds to reach an empty shore? What shape would your footsteps leave behind as you press ahead into the unknown?
