A lone girl and a familiar song play solitude on repeat, a picture of nostalgia framed in my mind like a forlorn autumn leaf
The moment between saying goodbye and leaving is a storm brewing over the horizon, a tug of war in my chest asking, Should I walk away or stay?
Sometimes, 'I loved you a little more than I loved myself' is a lie we tell ourselves to wipe the crumbs of sins and guilt, the remnants of what we don't want to remember, So, You turn a page and touch another life to feel and revive What died before death
Hoping it will grow again somewhere far away from where it lost its meaning.
09.17.21 #combination of everything that steals your sleep. Good night.☁
Have you ever seen an artist at work? in the throes of passion, in the state of flow; have you watched him twiddle a pencil between his lip and his nose? Have you never tried to count the number of lines that imprison a growing ball of sun, which radiates and shines almost like a third eye, between the peaks of his brows clenched high — a cloudless sunrise
Witnessing an artist at play is like espying the twilight sky, running amok in its grandmother's backyard, plucking overripe bulbs of juicy plums and plump peaches and throwing them on a dark canvas, which then splashes open with a thick, squishy squelch of french lavenders and burnt oranges. — a messy beauty
Observing him at work is as if discovering a bud of lotus, wholly present, drowning in the moment, detached, yet afloat, with all its focus concentrated in unfolding itself, layer after layer; emerging in time, inspite and because of all the muck it rises between. — a silent hustler
And then at times, an artist is a dark, impenetrable forest in a threatening rainstorm; temporarily inaccessible to all the distractions lurking by his fringes; with a wild tiger in his heart, captive and dangerously quiet, he is patiently waiting for the art to come alive; so the animal within can pounce, and sink its teeth; deep; claiming his prey with a signature peck of his name. — a violent craft.
Hugging my dear toys During a night full of fog I rendered a soliloquy Describing my day The jubilant moments And the gloomy ones With utmost zest Envisaging a utopian world Amidst the affable company Of my beloved toys
Filled with memories of childhood Childhood which was the best time Time that'll never come back again Again encompassing me with memories Memories that besotted me optimally
And thus I found solace Inebriated by the days of childhood When none insinuated But only befriended Best era of mankind Innocence showered abundantly And bereft is one of it When age climbs the ladder And pragmatism ruins everything