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.
DIALECT. left to time, it withered, like a dead corpse hung from wall, after the sentence. no poems to defend, no stories to tell, n...
To ban or not to ban; this is not the question. Wasn’t long back that Wendy Doniger’s book The Hindus; An Alternative History was with...
Ram, why did you kill Ravana, I was dishonored in your palaces by thee. Forced out of the womb, I yearned for a home Janak made me a pr...
इस यतीम रात को मैं कौन सा एक नाम दूँ, क्या राख़ में लपेट कर, इस पाक, कोरे चाँद को, रख दूँ तेरी याद की, गिरह में कहीं. या...