THE MAGIC PAINTER

Came to the artist's place
pictures all except one visible
the place had an uncanny piousness
though the lights quite feeble.

Beautiful the paintings were
Mysterious the place
Creations were well adorned
creator nowhere to trace.

I went close to one
to see a waterfall.
Couldn't I hear da roar of water!
realised that the natured stood tall.

There was one wid nude
man & woman in skectch.
where nudity expressed grace
and elegance not so far fetched.

I got mesmerised
as i saw the lightning sky.
Didn't that depict power
the rule nature abides by.

the picture of a monk
enodowed with spirituality.
Thought well furnished
with a sense of awkward sensuality.

Finding the right path
i progressed toward another.
Where the face bore hundreds of emotions
One playing the other.

I got astonished,
sense of superior persona engulfed me
Suddenly the place got dark
And i waited for thee.

The one blank canvas
was glowing with an word now.
"SOHANG"-was it with,
as I knelt before Thou.

this poem pretty simply depicts the nature & da God canvas..where da nature is seen as frame to frame in a painter's eyes.

The word "SOHANG" is a sanskrit word.and it means -I AM THE ONE.

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Untitled

You travel - Through unknown stations, passing empty paddy fields. over quiet rivers that rest beneath you. You bring a lot of earth along, And smell of mud, fish scales and trains. You whisper and scream, Put your nails in me, occasionally call it love. Other nights, we make peace. Strangely at dawn, When the Sun rises and you see me sleeping, I hear your whisper, you travel ... ... Deep inside me.

Untitled

Wish I could be a cloud one day I will love to be grey if its you To whom, through whom I traverse. Transparency is optimum; For I know you are unattainable like the sand escaping from the fist like the meaning assumed from the gist. look, oh yes, I can rhyme too. If you wish I can artify our world. Inspiration never needs a permit. You had asked, Why do I vomit blood. Interruptions in dreamy un-realism doesn't suit me. I know. So I write. So that I can breathe you in and breathe dreams out. Live long, you had wished. (Wished), did you? honestly? I will let it pass like just another Failed attempt to face reality Finds itself en-route to contamination. Oh! then what is pure? you may ask. Purity is not you, not me, but us. Purity is the way verses traverse. I will vomit to death one day. Do not pray for me. Pray for my poems who are quiet. Let them borrow my breaths. Let the poetry for us live. (And the footnotes conclude:) You - a miser in love Me - a happy lender. SoUmy@

Of Ecstasy...

Beyond the horizon lies the gray that rests between your feet, delicately. Waves ripple and glide past the footsteps, Silently washing off your prints afar, Uncomplaining in tender reverence. You raise your arms as if to embrace the sea. I see twilight, I feel air gently hushing by. The crimson Sun is at its last breath And caresses you with quiet blessings. As your innocence reflects upon the gracing Sun and the soothing sea I stand mute and mesmerized... ... Oblivious of the rest as the triad touches me And I cry, just. SoUmY@ [p.s. -> This post of mine is inspired by the picture atop. I thank Jennifer for letting me share this. And this piece goes to Angel . ]

Soumya Scribbles...

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