Years came and years went

 

Years came and years went

We were born again

But though many eons passed away

We couldn't comprehend

Until one day the sun burnt out

And we became stardust

When the dust collided

Another world was born

This world formed an ocean

And the ocean formed a soup

From this primordial soup of life

Came a terrible coup

We kept on quarreling every day

Till there was little left

It never dawned on us

We were just atoms at best

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) was an American Poet. At the time of his death Longfellow was regarded both at home and abroad as the greatest American poet. His reputation in England rivaled that of Tennyson. His translations from German, Italian and Scandinavian had much the directness and sincerity of his own verse, and attracted many American readers.

When critical taste turned toward a sterner brand of realism, Longfellow’s faults were noticed more than his very solid virtues. He has been called “The poet of the Commonplace,” but he had the gift of illuminating the ordinary and surrounding it with music. The simplicity that endears him to children and many adults often is interpreted as triteness or mediocrity. Nevertheless, Longfellow has earned a permanent place as a skilled lyricist of pure, sweet and gentle tone. Longfellow’s mastery of the ballad form and his proficiency with the sonnet are generally acknowledged.

A tragedy occurred in 1861 that shadowed the remaining years of his life. While his wife was melting sealing wax, a match set fire to her dress and she was burned to death in spite of Longfellow’s efforts to save her. He was seriously burned. Though the poet’s fame continued to grow, the peak of Longfellow’s creative life had passed. His translation of Dante’s Divine Comedy (1867), to which he turned for solace after his wife’s death, was competent but too literal to possess the musical quality Longfellow ordinarily summoned.

At the 50th anniversary of the graduation of his class at Bowdoin, Longfellow read a poem “Morituri Salutamus” (“We Who Are About to Die Salute Thee). After being stricken with dizziness in 1881, he died from an attack of peritonitis on March 24 of the following year. He was buried in Mount Auburn Cemetery.

A poem he wrote was "The Secret of the Sea" and in it the following verses appear.

Ah! what pleasant visions haunt me

As I gaze upon the sea!

All the old romantic legends,

All my dreams, come back to me.

Sails of silk and ropes of sandal,

Such as gleam in ancient lore;

And the singing of the sailors,

And the answer from the shore!

Most of all, the Spanish ballad

Haunts me oft, and tarries long,

Of the noble Count Arnaldos

And the sailor's mystic song.

Like the long waves on a sea-beach,

Where the sand as silver shines,

With a soft, monotonous cadence,

Flow its unrhymed lyric lines;--

Telling how the Count Arnaldos,

With his hawk upon his hand,

Saw a fair and stately galley,

Steering onward to the land;--

How he heard the ancient helmsman

Chant a song so wild and clear,

That the sailing sea-bird slowly

Poised upon the mast to hear,

Till his soul was full of longing,

And he cried, with impulse strong,--

'Helmsman! for the love of heaven,

Teach me, too, that wondrous song!'

'Wouldst thou,'--so the helmsman answered,

'Learn the secret of the sea?

Only those who brave its dangers

Comprehend its mystery!'

In each sail that skims the horizon,

In each landward-blowing breeze,

I behold that stately galley,

Hear those mournful melodies;

Till my soul is full of longing

For the secret of the sea,

And the heart of the great ocean

Sends a thrilling pulse through me.

Far far from the Shore

 

Far far from the shore

In a place I don’t want to go

Lies a sunken ship

The ship they called greed

We once sailed to an Isle

Far beyond the Nile

In a ship that made 

Thoughts that were vile

In this Isle

We stopped for a while

They sailed on

For I had seen Dawn

In greed they went

They were my friends

Their mighty needs

They could never reach

Their stars faded

The seas abated

They lost their way 

For their souls I pray

I found me

In the Island of peace

This is all I need

They call it Serendib

INK ENTROPISM

THE INK ENTROPISM MANIFESTO

A Declaration of Chaotic Order and Dream-Built Cities

1. We embrace the line as an act of liberation.

The scribble is not a mistake; it is a pulse. Each mark is an unfiltered trace of consciousness — restless, instinctive, alive. We draw not to imitate the world, but to expose the turbulence beneath it.

2. Cities are dreams we construct from disorder.

Architecture in Ink Entropism is not bound by logic. Domes tilt, towers bend, and bridges multiply like thoughts spiraling in the night. Our structures rise from chaos, proving that meaning can emerge from apparent randomness.

3. We reject clean perfection.

Smoothness is a lie. Precision is a cage. We accept the imperfect, the messy, the unresolved. True expression lives in the fractures, in the trembling lines that reveal the artist’s internal world.

4. The page is a living landscape of the mind.

Ink Entropists do not draw “scenes.” We map emotional territories. Each swirling sky, each crowded building, each impossible horizon is a psychological geography — a portrait of thought in motion.

5. Darkness is part of the vocabulary.

Shadows, voids, heavy cross-hatching, and vortex-like forms are not signs of despair but of depth. We acknowledge the unknown and give it shape. The void is a doorway.

6. Spontaneity is a method, not a flaw.

We begin before we know. We let the hand outrun the mind. Planning is optional; discovery is essential. Ink Entropism values the accident that becomes intentional through existence alone.

7. We celebrate density.

Crowded lines, overlapping forms, visual noise — these are not clutter. They are the texture of reality as it is truly experienced: layered, contradictory, overwhelming, beautiful.

8. Ink is our instrument of truth.

Permanent. Unforgiving. Immediate. Ink forces courage. Every mark declares itself permanently and without apology. This movement stands against the fear of the irreversible.

9. The world is illogical — so is our art.

We reject the tyranny of realism and the false comfort of rational design. Our landscapes follow emotional laws, not physical ones.

10. Above all, we create to reveal what is unseen.

Ink Entropism exposes internal states — thought storms, subconscious architectures, mental noise, silent anxieties, fleeting visions.

We draw the invisible and make it undeniable.

CALL TO ARTISTS

If your hand shakes with restless lines,

if your imagination builds cities no map could contain,

if you sense beauty in the chaotic and meaningful disorder in the accidental —

then you are already one of us.

Ink Entropism is not a style.

It is a way of seeing.

INK ENTROPISM ART

 

Oil pastel on paper

 

Factories at Sunset - Oil pastel on paper

 

Every day of Every Month

 

On the dark days of September

And other days in November

I still thought of better days soon

That will come to me in June

But when old December came

I thought I’ll go insane

For dark dreary days

Had come for me to stay

But then January first was here

I lost all fear

For I just decided to be happy

Every day of every month

The Jungle Path - Oil Pastel on paper

 

The Sea at Night - Abstract

 

The Tree - Oil Pastel on paper

 

Pen Drawing

 

Marooned

Marooned in a Lonely Island
Seeking a Friendly Ship,
Waters of Silver Ripples,
And Beaches of Branchless Trees.

A Sun that Burns the Skin
Clouds that Embrace,
Parrots that Speak Bloody French,
God ! Am I going Insane

Is that a Damn ship out there
Will it hit the Damn Reef
Will my Dum Dog greet me
Dammit, it’s the bloody Spanish

But behind this Coconut Jungle
And Creepers of Blue Lilies
And Past that thorny hell bush
Is a Jungle of Great Trees

Trees of Giant Timber
A Jungle of Tamarinds
With a Saw from the old Wreck
Could I Build a Two Mast Ship

3

 

Cartoon 2

 

Cartoon

 

5

 

4

 

3

 

Drawing 2

 

Pen Drawing

 

The Old Beach Road

Once I took the old beach route

For I had missed the bus

Taking the road in that darkly night

Was for me just too much

An old man told of this old beach road

That he alone once tread

But as I gaze at the dark nights stars

The constellations now seem strange.

When I set out this night

I thought I saw the Great Bear

But now strange stars loom so large

That it gives me a scare

The Sea now seems to say something

Or did a seagull scream

And Northern Lights seem so strange

In this Eastern beach

Is this the sands I left behind

Or the famed Sands of Time

Will I reach my home beach

Or the very dawn of time

Has a day now passed

Or perhaps a Century

Is that a sea turtle out there

Or a Creature of some Primordial beach

I wake up in my home beach

Where fisherman cry fish, fish

But did I really walk out there

Or was I half asleep.

Edgar Allan Poe

 

Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), was a United States short-story writer, poet, critic and editor. There has always been disagreement as to the quality of his work, and some of the events of his life. However, even those critics who do not consider him a great writer acknowledge his importance in the development of modern literature. Poe's most popular stories are those of horror, such as "The Fall of the House of Usher" and "The Black Cat, "and of detection , such as "The Gold Bug" and "The Murders in Rue Morgue." Among his well-known lyrical poems are the haunting "Ulalume," "The Raven," and "Annabel Lee," and the classically restrained "To Helen."

Poe was one of the most brilliant and independent 19th-century literary critics. His emphasis on artistic rather than morel values in literature greatly influenced modern literary theory and practice. His stressing of poetry's musical elements, and his use of evocative and symbolic language and imagery, contributed to the rise of the French Symbolist movement in poetry and, through it, to various 20th century trends in poetry.

Poe was the first to formulate rules for the short story, and the principles of brevity and unity that he advocated have influenced short-story writing on the present time. He is credited with inventing the modern detective story, and bringing the Gothic horror tale to a high level of development. He enriched both types of stories with psychological insight. Poe's preoccupation with madness, death and the supernatural, and his denial of the importance of morel values in literature, were bitterly criticized during his lifetime and for some years afterward. More valid from a literary standpoint was the objection - still made by many critics - that some of his works are too contrived.

Edgar Poe was born in Boston, second of the three children of Davis and Elizabeth Poe, travelling actors. When Edgar was two years old his mother died in Richmond, Virginia; their father had previously deserted the family. Egar was taken into the home of John Allan, a merchant, from whom the boy took his middle name. The Allan's lived in England from 1815 to 1820, where Edgar attended private schools. He later attended a Richmond academy.

Poe entered the University of Virginia in1826, but at the end of the year Allan withdrew him because Poe had run up large gambling debts. After a quarrel with his foster father Poe went to Bostan in 1827. There he published anonymously his first volume of poetry, Tamerlane and Other Poems. He enlisted in the army and served two years. In 1829 he published his second book of poems. The same year his foster mother died and Poe became briefly reconciled with his foster father, who got him an appointment tothe U.S. Military Academy in 1830. Poe cut classes and drills and was expelled from the Academy early in 1831. His break with Allan was final.

In 1831 Poe lived in New York City for a short while and published Poems. It contained many of his best poems, including "To Helen," "The City and the Sea," and "Israfel." Poe then went to live with his aunt Mrs. Maria Clemm in Baltimore. He turned to the writing of fiction and did not publish another book of poetry for 14 years. In 1833 he won a prize for the story "Manuscript Found in a Bottle."

Poe went back to Richmond in 1835 and joined the staff of the Sothern Literary Messenger, soon becoming its editor. Poe won wide attention for his critical reviews of the Messenger. In 1837 Poe moved to New York, but unable to find work there, moved again to Philadelphia, where he became editor of Burton's Gentleman's Magazine (1839-40). Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque was published in 1840 and favorably reviewed. Poe was literary editor of Graham's Magazine for a few months in 1841 and in it began to publish detective stories.

Poe won another prize with "The Gold Bug" (1843), which became his most popular story during his lifetime. He returned to New York and became assistant editor of the Mirror. Publication of The Raven and Other Poems in 1845 brought him increased fame. For a few months he was the owner of the Broadway Journal, but the periodical failed. Poe's wife died of tuberculosis in 1847, and he became depressed and ill. He became emotionally involved with two women and attempted suicide. During his last years, however, he wrote some of his best poems and critical essays. He also published Eureka (1848), a philosophical work.

Poe became engaged to a childhood sweet-heart in Richmond in 1849. He then went to Baltimore to bring his aunt back for the wedding. A few day later he was found fatally ill in a tavern in Baltimore. The legend that Poe was an opium addict and wastrel is contradicted by the facts of his predominantly quiet and hard-working life. He was an alcoholic, but his claim that he drank to alleviate periods of intense depression was partly upheld by physicians who examined him and said he had a brain lesion. In 1910 Poe was elected to the Hall of Fame for Great Americans

Camille Pissarro: The Quiet Mastermind of Impressionism

 

Camille Pissarro may not be as instantly recognizable as Monet or Degas, but without him, Impressionism might never have blossomed into the revolutionary art movement we know today. Born on the island of St. Thomas in 1830, Pissarro brought a unique, worldly perspective to French art — one that fused tropical light with European technique.

Often called the “father of Impressionism,” Pissarro was more than a painter; he was a mentor. He encouraged a spirit of collaboration among artists like Cézanne, Gauguin, and Van Gogh, shaping their work with his gentle advice and firm belief in painting modern life. His own style evolved constantly — from the loose brushwork of early Impressionism to the bold, pointillist technique of Neo-Impressionism.

What set Pissarro apart was his devotion to painting the ordinary. He depicted peasants working the land, bustling city streets, and tranquil rural scenes with an honesty that was both radical and deeply human. Unlike many of his peers, he never sought fame or spectacle. He preferred quiet innovation and community over personal glory.

Camille Pissarro died in 1903, having spent his life observing, evolving, and supporting others. Today, his legacy lives not only in his own paintings, but in the movement he helped build — one that forever changed how we see the world.

James Cook

 

Captain James Cook (1728-1779), was an English navigator. Captain Cook accurately charted vast regions of the south pacific; provided a basis for England's claim to Australia and New Zealand; and developed a diet that prevented scurvy among seamen. Born of farming parents in Yorkshire, Cook went to sea as a boy and joined the Royal Navy in1755. His seamanship and deligence soon gained recognition, and four years later he was made a master of a naval sloop. From 1763 to 1767 he explored the St. Lawrence River and the shores of Labrador and Newfoundland.

In 1768, with a group of scientists, Cook set out on his first expedition, sailing around Cape Horn. The immediate purpose was to observe the transit of the planet Venus from the vantage point of Tahiti. On his voyage, which continued till 1771, the party went on to explore the coast of New Zealand and to chart the eastern coast of Australia. As a result of this expedition, Cook was promoted to commander in the navy and was sent with two ships to determine whether there was a continent at the south extremity of the earth. Although they did not sight Antarctica, the explorers were the first to cross the Antarctic Circle. During this expedition of 1772-75, Cook sailed around the world far to the south, mapping the South Pacific and other southern latitudes much as they are known today. By providing the crews with sufficient vegetables, Cook proved that scurvy, a desease caused by lack of vitamin C, need no longer plague men on long voyages.

Cook was promoted as captain and on his third voyage of discovery, 1776-78, undertook a search for the Northwest Passage - a linking of the Atlantic and the Pacific oceans by way of Arctic regions. He approached from the Pacific side and discovered the Sandwich (Hawaiian) Islands. Although he found no passage through the ice, Cook explored the northwest coast upto Bering Strait. After his return to Hawaii, he was killed by a native because of a misunderstanding over a missing boat. The journals of Cook and his associates are among the most entertaining accounts of discovery and scientific investigation.

Idle Thoughts Under a Tree

 

Under an Ahela tree

I gaze up at its fine yellow flowers

Is this tree the prettiest there is

Or is it just second to the Japanese Cherry

Under an Ironwood tree

I gaze up at its bright red leaves

Is its wood the strongest there is

Or is it just second to the Australian Buloke

Under a Banyan tree

I gazed up at its fine green leaves

Do these branches hold the truth

Or just ghosts to eat the fruits

Under another great tree

I gazed up at its splendid leaves

Will enlightenment embrace me here

Or when night falls will I feel fear

The Jungle Path

 

Oil pastel

 

The Great Sandy River (Mahaweli River)

Meandering along the valley

Flows the great sandy river

Starting from the central hills

It reaches the sea for ever

Men may come and men may go

But the river flows on

The river reminds me

We are all one

Flow when the sun is shining

Or in the pouring rain

When you reach the sea in an unknown bay

It'll be destiny's end