Art Was Everywhere
It was everywhere…
Bright and light,
Forms of art.
In broken cups with mud stains,
And in shattered bangles,
In those wrinkled, unmade bedsheets,
And in half-dried roses—
There was pure art.
When trees bent in storms,
And clothes danced to their tunes,
When monsoon mornings
Left teardrops on leaves—
There was beauty in art.
When lovers kissed behind the shades of trees,
And wildflowers bloomed in melancholy,
There was silence in art.
When old couples held hands
And walked past squares, slowly,
Life was beating in art.
When teardrops dried halfway down your cheeks,
And slipping strands of hair veiled your face—
There was romance in art.
But when I looked inside… my heart,
There stood an image of nothingness—
A gleam of empty hues,
Crystal, pale,
Staring at me from the void.
The day distress stamped my heart
So heavily with longing,
For all those beautiful shades of art,
I drank the elixir offered by thee
At the shrine of our shared agonies,
Kissing thy lips hopelessly.
In the upheavals of that love,
I fell deep into the gloom,
Breaking my heart—entrancingly.
The hurt, the wound, and the color of thy
Bleeding thoughts
Stained my soul with the velvety red
Of sorrow and grief—
An art I became.
And then…
I was worth a masterpiece!
