Thursday, May 20, 2010

Red, Green and Black

Here is my canvas, hung on the wall
A canopy of glass, no room no hall

The canvas splashed with reds, with greens
And shades of black stroked in between

Figures form as forms dissolve
Canvas fades as the lines evolve

I search for meanings in scattered lines
Embossed in gold and silver they shine

Straight from heaven they told they came
A multitude of hungry hands for frame

They tore apart the flesh off my frame
Devoured the colors and claimed my name

In frenzy I hacked and cut and chopped
Those hands that came to claim my mould

I drew out flesh off their fallen bones
Sew my canvas, painted till it shone

My canvas breathes, my colors swell
The forms rise up to heaven and hell

My canvas splashed with reds and greens
And shades of black wedged in between.

7 comments:

Carrie Burtt said...

Beautifully written, you are very talented! Can't wait to read more!
Thank you. :-)

oceanic mirages said...

Carrie: thanks. that was very flattering. i tried commenting on ur blog but could not...

chandrakant said...

beautiful,you are good in both english and hindi.So original.Plzzzz...keep writing.

human being said...

this is a painting that has come to being through pain... it is eternal... and never-dying... this is you, for sure!

loved especially these two lines:

'Figures form as forms dissolve
Canvas fades as the lines evolve'


graceful images... expressive rhythm... i could see the dance of your soul...

namaste!

oceanic mirages said...

human: it was really nice to hear frm u. ur comments always r a gr8 source of inspiration.
chandrakant: thanks a ton for visiting.

ani_aset said...

loved this line "Canvas fades as the lines evolve". Brilliant work this :)

Adee said...

i see hope in here, not usually the feeling i get after i finish a poem by u :) but this i a different, cynical hope. the persona went through a lot, from passiveness when 'the shades of black' were 'stroked in between' to the activeness, to the taking ones own destiny in their own hands, drawing out 'flesh off' its tormentors' 'fallen bones'...but still, when it has regained its composure, caught up with its breath, the 'shades of black still wedged in between' like old nightmares. and that is why, there is hope, but a tormented kind of hope...

concentric spirals

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