Rootless Existence: A dissection through photo poetry
There are margins and in margins lay a bottom, and in bottom lay a pit of downfall
Mothers are beings that nourish, nurture, and peddle a sense of life onto us. Us
the wider connotation evolving out of truth. A sinking truth that Maai goes out
of her way and in a subservient haze has to earn the bare minimum to support
herself. She cannot depend on her own blood to meet her own existence. She is
draped in the tremors of lost identity, yet she will smileā¦
In all cataclysmic sounds who protects the yearning mother, you me, or the
cosmos all the religions were man-made yet the sights are brute and nicked by
stars and ripples. She is taking a plunge with her child to die in glee and wonder
diving beneath the surface, falling inside the Mariana Trench, and turning into
ashes along with her son who already died on the surface.
The world is abundantly methodical, yet with accounting profits, loss, need and
greed, chaos and conflict, slap for pounding, beatdown from attacking. All head
necks roll the drapes and become headless when equivocation has to be done
with Maai, why is this so vengeful? It is because we forget that we are people,
and sacrifices happen with beings that we love. Yet Maai is lost finding no one
near her sight.
The laughs are genuine, for Maai never wants to be told she is bold and
independent. The tryst of betelnut here acts as a tropical sunny mist that
glistens on her body, the heat is ravaging her turning her into ash black, but she
waits till the tunes change, voices raise and ideas coalesce, to protect her from a
mindless catastrophe.
The streams of conquest are starting to fruition. The rage is starting to appear.
Maai is trapped in both ends, both turns, and both pedestals. She chose a
striving choice, yet she has been befallen by the crude contents of life. Humanity
ravaging made her lose, dragging them out in the open and leaving her kid alone.
Maai is beaten day in and day out. Maai is razed to the ground out and out. Yet
her rigorous existential crisis is her denidation via child loss. No mother can be
bereft of the child as she wanders away from the bridge of darkness, dungeons
underneath the hell between the crust and the mantle.
Maai is lost, without a child, belongings, or devotion, stripped of wealth,
summons, cravings, ideas, and ideologies. She became the footfall of her own
intangible existence, for she was always lost, while the last nail wandered her
away in the streets, amidst unknowns, waiting to feed on her, one after another.
The photos are great, Kallol! And work very well with text, in point and counterpoint.
Beautifully poignant and sharp imagery, Kallol. The words are haunting, for sure. Motherhood is the most eternally beautiful and heart-wrenching experience one can imagine.
In these words a more detailed story begs for release.
Thank you for inviting me.