kendru

AI art is not art; it's just an imitation. You can't create with art. I say that is wrong and I will even argue about it. I've worked with AI, have seen people work with AI and calling AI art not a real art, that is just an obnoxious take. Art takes time and a lot of work, but so does making something with AI. People do give time to that as well. Imagining a random scenario and putting in effort to bring out the best output, giving it time to perfect? That takes time. Sacrificing sleeps, days and nights straight to fetch and train a model so that it can prepare a perfect output out of perfectly curated prompts, that takes time. It takes time to come up with one prompt that generates such output. It takes lots and lots of training, hours of hard work and days, even weeks of time all for one output. All just to get stamped as “AI art is not real, just an imitation” GROW UP PEOPLE, EVOLVE AS THE WORLD AROUND YOU IS EVOLVING.

©Kendra Pokhrel

स्वतः श्वेत वायुपंखि घोडा मा चढी आउने छ मेरो राजकुमार, मेरो राजकुमार: काल समेतको पर्खाल नाघ्दै आउने छ मेरो राजकुमार, आकाश–पातालको सिमाना माझ्दै आउने छ मेरो राजकुमार। मेरो राजकुमार: हाम्रो मिलनको गान गाउँदै, विजयीको उनको काव्य रच्दै, हाम्रो एकत्वको चित्र कोर्दै, मलाई लिन, विमुक्त पार्न यो वस्तुबन्धन बाट, आउने छ मेरो राजकुमार, मलाई लिन...

©Kendra Pokhrel

ये शाम जो ढलनेको हैं, जो साल ये गुजरनेको हैं, छाई ये निशा जो हैं, ये रात भी अब पिघलनेको हैं।

फरामोश ये वक्त भी सम्हलनेको हैं, मुस्ताकिर ये ज़मीन भी चलने हैं, ठहरा था जो लम्हा इस जहां, अब वो घड़ी भी बदलने को हैं।

(a little late on posting, not that it matters, but anyways)

©Kendra Pokhrel

Sometimes I wonder if I am the weaver of words, Crafting each verse with care and skill, like a arras of birds. Or perhaps I'm a translator of the universe's song, Piecing together syllables like stars to where they belong. Amongst the cosmic whispers and the universe's murmurings, As a translator of its essence, I find my soul's yearnings.

©Kendra Pokhrel

you are all that, and that's all me. you're all those, and those are all me.

what I am, I'm to myself, what you are, are to you, where I exist, I exist there, but what I am, am I to you?

©Kendra Pokhrel

fact or a flaw, truth or a lie,

a turned down word, a rejected account, or a tale being denied, on just every count.

spoke of heat, spoke with heat, denial and resentment, a mind on heat.

an attempted play, a day of pact, darker days, and a deal compact.

days turn to nights, and nights; midnight, worrying soul, and dimming light.

and the night is over, and the sun has risen, and a new day, rising over the horizon.

days turn to weeks, and weeks to month, the soul laments the day, in silent, shadow leaves the hunt.

©Kendra Pokhrel