Love

What is love?
Is it writing a poem?
Buying flowers, diamonds and such symbols of love?
Is it holding hands and walking in the monsoon drenched grass?
Is it feeling someone touch your innards in ways you could never imagine?
Is it venerating someone with worship in mind?
Is it having their thought in your mind all day and night?
Is it that desperation to connect your dream with another’s?
Is it that mush circulating in the pit of your abdomen?

I was in love.
I was in love with something so beautiful it cannot be defined.

It was called Strange Brew.

It was not a magazine, it was not a product, it was not an ‘advertising vehicle’.
It was not an occupation, a hobby, a fuckin task, a godamn job.

It was a life. Defined by love. My love. The love of my brethren.
Brought into life by a class that fought the world. Who went against the proverbial grain, fought the domestic battles, decimated status quo, ignored logic and cried tears of pain. Disowned by family, laughed at by society, insulted by businessmen, critiqued by the unforgiving, thrashed by the market, reminded of the torture every given moment. The impossible was the only agenda.

Strange Brew issue #1.
The best moment of my life. The apogee of my life.

I miss you. I have never loved anything as dearly as you, and i probably never will.

I gave you my life, my tears sweat and blood. I discovered how much i can love thanks to you. For giving me the expression and definition of love.

Someday you shall rise. Not like the cliched phoenix, but like a dynamite awaiting its spark. Wait little one, you shall awaken to rise up to your purpose. Bring life to our lives, and transform the world as we know it.
I miss you.