you're
crying
and as you walk
down the dimly
lit glass hallway
the faces on the walls
wave
in your breeze
of sadness and
iron oxide tears.

every surface in
your mind is
covered
in a thick layer of
concrete dust
and you wonder
how long before
your nose
takes a dive
sneezing
too often
to breathe.

there is clay
everywhere
and you can't see
the cracks
between your
knuckles
under the
thick layer of
thought.

as far as art
departments go
you're not feeling
so creative
painted or
charcoal
it doesn't matter
when there is more
brown paper offered
to you every
time you believe
you've failed.

would you believe me
if i told you that a
newspaper and a pair
of old blue eyes
reminded me
and maybe you too
that there is somebody
out there
who actually
cares.

press that
thumbtack
into the wall
slowly
pin down
everything
you've tried to
forget
and avoid
stabbing your
finger into
the perforated
abused and
continually
rotated
corkboard.

you're not
wirebound
anymore
i promise
only your
entwined metalic
thoughts.

Caffeine.
Shaky fingers attached
to quivering hands, steady themselves
on brick walls, paper, canvas, and skin.
Nicotine.
Reliable digits now detached
from a similar grasp. Without the stirring
lives of the artist, there is no life within.
Traces of muscle memory assist me again.
Feigned skill determined by the past,
and a pen.
Tranquiline.
Reality-defying, I'm aware to where my mind lies.
Without trying, you'll perceive it, and be on your way.
Underlying, a rare mind may use
hues to cry.
But the realist intellect knows
secrets deeper,
the mind of a dreamer,
and where to draw the line.

My hand hovers over the paper.
I twist and flip the pencil in my hand.
My mind swims in images and words.
Colours and thoughts.

*but the paper remains blank

Little do we know of what we know is very little,
too little to put the next step forward,
so little that we even hesitate in putting any extra effort.

With regards to drawing any conclusion at the present moment in time,
little do we know,
if anything about everything in the present,
very little.

Like happiness, even success cannot be achieved instantaneously
Only knowing that both success and happiness have got a definite place in everyone's life will not make things work,
more importantly we need to agree and accept upon the same.

Most importantly, consistent efforts need to be made in the right direction.
Initially it's need of the hour,
then later on,
of course the same becomes a kind of a habit.

Along with time, experience and expertise, patience and perseverance also play a major role in an individual's life.

Over a period of time after actualizing the right moment in time things start to take the right shape when success comes along the way.
Everything now depends upon the future, so ascertaining the future as of now is something that cannot be stopped.

Consistenly, over a period of time something goes on in the mind
There is a sort of restlessness that seeks into the mind
Same restlessness later on becomes a concern and over a period of time the same concern gets deeper,
concern is with regards to the future,
same concern also with regards to doing everything as quickly as possible in the present.

Anxious is the state of mind now, a little bit anxious and somewhat excited to know more.

More than what has already been registered by the mind an anxious mind tries to know everything in detail.
Thoughts in the mind race from present moment of time towards future,
of course, a future has always remained uncertain.

An uncertain future remains on hold and since been on hold,
of concern remains the future,
great concern.

An uncertainty about the future at first disturbs the mind, later on over a period of time there is a restlessness that sets into the mind.

What else is there as of now?
What else is the possibility with regards to the future?
Is there any other way out?
Is there a better way of doing things?
Quite possibly some kind of innovation can be done.

Little do we know of what we know is very little
Little do we know that there is no alternative to hard work and also there is no short cut to success.

Always it's better to play safe rather than to feel sorry later.
Always it's better to know everything at first instead of straightaway jumping on any sort of conculsion,
rightaway making any kind of decision,
since both of which can spoil the game.

Each and everyone plays a game in his life,
a game of his own choice,
a game which will decide the fate of his life.

Better to discuss each and everything first
Once done, then comes the final decision
Right or wrong, of course that fate will decide later.

Little do we know of what we know is very little,
too little to put the next step forward,
so little we know of what all we know that we hesitate in putting in any extra effort.
Even as for drawing any conclusion in the present,
little do we know,
if anyhing about everything in the present,
very little.

Have you decided it?
The name of your mascot?
The hair colour? The eyes?
The hair style? The skin tone?
The character race? Nationallity?
Have you?

"Just do it as you wish" — that's how you respond to my question
But no, I won't do that
Because for me — Original Character or Mascot is something that resembles you the most
Why do I bother myself to make one for you?
Because no, I'm not too good in writing, also in english — far below your ability, I often do some grammatical errors
But I'm quite good in expressing my feelings, memories, emotions on drawings — a picture that represent a thousand words

And for me who have been living a lie — hiding behind this fake smile, my world is an empty place
But you've seen the other side of me, and instead of leaving you nurture it
You give me strength with these memories, my feelings with you
That was the the realest side of me, where I finally can be honest to myself

So please, answer my question
And let me draw your mascot
Let me believe that it's true, our memories, our feelings, our emotion
Then carve these beautiful memories of us eternally, where I can find it really lively when I started to get drowned again in my living lie

Because without you that memory is nothing more than just an imagination

His finger tapped the book,
Encouragingly and gentle,
That old finger,
That had pulled triggers in the war,
That had touched his girls in tender ways,
He gave me a smile and tapped again,
Sunlight shining in his grey hair,
In his beautiful eyes,
I haven't looked down yet,
And he was still tapping,
I was thinking of his many crinkles,
Smile creases and frown wrinkles,
The day was ending,
I should leave soon,
I should look down,
But mesmerizing, was his teeth,
And I stared and counted,
And I observed his ear hairs,
And nose hairs, and beard hairs,
But the old man tapped again,
On the blank strathmore page,
I haven't drawn him yet,
His green eyes fail with the falling of the light,
I hurriedly drew him,
He paid for my work,
A work that dissatisfied,
So I went home,
And wrote about him,
Filling a page and a half.
                           from firefly