On Wild

Oh! You, who gaze thy screens and burry your heads in between the palliative aroma of pages,

and you, who write of all wrongs and rights, sitting in a four cornered cabin lonely stinking of monotony;

And you, who stand in your attics to ponder at the sky like it’s the only muse to your poems,

You who get off the bed with every rising sun only to serve a mediocre, unguarded living, and mint coins to throng up your coffers with unattainable satisfaction. 

You who walk through emporiums to look for ingenuity to your writings;

Also you all, who have been reclined in their beds, unabated since eternity; 

who aspire to carve art and sculpt ideas for the planet to discover... Ye Poets and philosophers,

Writers and sculptors,

Painters and musicians,

Seekers and listeners,

Readers and seers! 

Saunter! 

Perambulate! 

Ramble through the wild. 

For these woods and marshes, and forests and swamps, and mountains and creeks, and hills and rivers, and oceans and muds await you. 

They all servile to offer muses to your art, 

Your path, ways, 

Your roads, journeys,

Your goals, destinations, 

Your feet, paces,

Your nostrils, breath,

Your faces, smiles,

Your minds, thoughts! 

Bring in your quills and your journals, your brushes and colours,

your clay and moulds, your instruments and rhythms,

walk in through these woods and thou shall remain here in fain. 

Suck out all the marrow from the roots of the wild and subtly fill it all in the hollow bones of your art. 

Your pieces shall nourish. 

For it’s in the wild that art has all its flavour. 

It’s in the wild that man is at the peaks of his ego, persona, spirit and intellect. 

It’s in the wild that the souls of knowledge have been emerged and shall return back to. .

Walk out of the restrains of civilisation,

the chains of modernism feeding you nothing but a concrete, monotonous life nicely wrapped in the names of globalisation leaving you handicapped. 

Walk out of the cages of smoke and oil served in cities full of light for all 24 hours. 

Recreate yourselves, 

And seek the darkest, the thickest and the most interminable woods;

Reach out for the most ceaseless fires and the most unbroken waters.

For it’s in the wild art can best be created. 

It’s only the wild that attracts us. 

Seek for the ever increasing vigour in you and burn out the monotonies offered by the town-life. 

Saunter through the woods and seek for the fossils of Frost, of Thoreau,

of Dante, Whitman, Emerson, Aristotle, Gogh, Rousseau, Cezanne, Michaelangelo and Monet.

Fill up your quills, pallets, your instruments and your minds with their ashes, and go on.

Walk into the woods and choose your wild. 

For in wildness alone, lies the preservation of the world!