A dazzling night
and I can not sleep as easily
as you can.
In my millions of veins
there is a rebel that fumes
and exerts and still is quiet.
A blood that freezes an ice, is of mine.
What is it to write
without an eraser?
it is almost you, real.
The way you falter and can not clean
the way you can derange and be helpless
So are we on the sheets.
I had seen a painter who has sketched
on a black art paper.
Art, as they are, indistinguishable,
Unavoidable, plain as the paper.
Bring him a white chalk, perhaps.
Likewise, we all are.
We run while the hideouts are lit up
And then face a chuckle, gross.
I will run to the horizon to search shyness.
SoUmY@
and I can not sleep as easily
as you can.
In my millions of veins
there is a rebel that fumes
and exerts and still is quiet.
A blood that freezes an ice, is of mine.
What is it to write
without an eraser?
it is almost you, real.
The way you falter and can not clean
the way you can derange and be helpless
So are we on the sheets.
I had seen a painter who has sketched
on a black art paper.
Art, as they are, indistinguishable,
Unavoidable, plain as the paper.
Bring him a white chalk, perhaps.
Likewise, we all are.
We run while the hideouts are lit up
And then face a chuckle, gross.
I will run to the horizon to search shyness.
SoUmY@
Comments
Soumya you defined ART so well.. too good.. It is being such a delight to see you evolve with each write...
Its like experiencing how best gets better...!
God Bless.
Supremely true. I loved how multi faceted this piece is... like your search in the horizon, this poem itself has plenty of hidey holes inside. Stunning.
touching