Only when i let the colors slip through my fingers,my soul flies back to me....
in the criss cross of lines , i try to find a line that holds the truth..
i smear dark shades of blues and reds merging them into each other, trying to get hold of my life..
rubbing my thumb over the bark of a tree , tracing its texture..
i crave for more, the nature ...its serenity..
a human form sketched at the last page of my sketch pad...a figure bowing..
i search for the voice within...shrill and yet sacred...
i rush my brush strokes blindly...
coats of paint overlapping,
i add in more colors to feed my hungry thoughts..
the unspeakable ..speaks volumes through the curves and twists..
the tree and the pigeons...the huge blades of yellow green barley..
i paint with the hands which dont belong to me..
they move with a thought of their own..
goin to where the brush takes them...
stroke after storke i stand in a trance, with my feet numb..
i drop my arms , close my eyes and surrender my existence..to the moment..
2 comments:
I would like to put my comments on this piece of poetry or prose (i dont hav anything to do literatutre so dunno wt to call it), but first i wud like to know whether its adapted or is it ur own work?
the words seem to penetrate the souls of the sensitive,
the shades overwhelm the harsh and bitter tenticles of life,
the serenity slashes the bustles of restlessness,
and then,
WE DO NOT FEEL ALONE.
it's a beautiful piece of work, unique coz the tranquility speaks volumes.... touches the heart.
i can relate to it in many ways... and yes dear ann, everything makes complete sense.
you transferred the sedative onto us readers.... :)
somy.
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