kendru

I want to write. I want to write everything. Everything I've lost, everything that have lose me. Everything in my life, and everything not. I want to write so much, that someday I want to write me. I want to be a creation, the creator being me. I want to write, a little that makes sense, a little that don't. I want to write how I write, and I want to write why I write. I just want to write, something about me, and something just more.

there is something, is it in me, is it off me, or just me, a pulse, a wave, a sound, not a word, yet is something, now quite a scream, something, strange.

there is something, nameless, formless, something dark, with shimmers of light, born but unnamed, hatched chaotic yet untamed, something odd, raw and rude, maybe a song, or just a life, obscure and just tod.

something unborn, a precursor, of what came my love, my hate and my pride.

a seedling, into it's first shoot, a spark, creating it's first fire, a note, playing the music of it's first some.

there is a birth, a birth of what i feel, to my love, to my hatred, to my anger, to my pride.

there is a birth. the birth of my emotions, maybe i love, maybe i smile, maybe i cry, maybe i shy, but there is birth, of an unknown, on me, in me, off me a sapling that grows onto something else a bud; flowering into emotions, beyond the vastness of my understanding, beyond me.

there in me, where it grows, impression from thousand, and one it bestows, and there it grows, this is how my emotion flows.

म हिजो रातदेखि कविता लेखी रहेको छु, विचारको जालमा परी, केही कल्पना देखी रहेको छु, आफ्नो माया, आशा र सुख अबै गुमाएर, दुखको बलिरहेको आगोको राप सेकि रहेको छु।

जिन्दगीको किनारामा उभिरहेछु म, मृत्युको दैलाेमा दस्तक दिँदै, म, मेरो आत्माको स्वास दबाइ, सपनाको घाँटी रेटी, जीवनको सुतुलो छिनाई, म, मृत्युलाई अङ्गाल्दै, आफ्नो प्राण त्याग्दै, उभिरहेछु म जीवन-मृत्युको सन्धिमा। म, कालको स्वागत गर्दै, अन्तको बाटो कुर्दै, प्रेरणाको रुख काट्दै, विनाशको मार्ग हेर्दै, म, आफ्नो सारा आशा मारी, रागको सुर झारी, विश्वास र माया त्याग्दै, म मरणको भूमि सम्हारी।

मलाई कवि बन्न मन छ, मायामा उनकै छवि बन्न मन छ, छायाँ दिए होला कयौंलाई, मलाई उनको जिन्दगीको रवि बन्न मन छ।

म बिलेर जाउँला, धर्तीमै मिलेर जाउँला, हावा सँगै बगेर या, फूलझैँ खिलेर जाउँला।

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.

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...

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)