#artisticfreedom
On the high stage, his clumsy swan has transformed
in to a dancing flame, though sensed a twist
in the script, he sat eyes fixed on her, feeling gratified,
within moments, in perfect timing she changed colors
mesmerized everyone, to him certain moves were baffling,
unexpected, still he beamed, his eyes shone thinking,
"All that dancing beauty is mine".But can one contain a flame?
was he letting himself down by being possessive about a beam?
(It's too early to feel proud about new loves and mango flowers,
he used to hear uttered often when he was still a callow youth)
When the applause died down, a commotion followed
a rush of people to see her up close, then a silence
that was not intended, he was waiting for her, what went wrong?
He waited for the swan that came into her own, within his embrace,
to return, like a farmer who thought all mango blooms are fruits.
Surrounded by admiring eyes, she didn't find a need to look at his side
and when he decided to go and look for his swan and take her home
he was shocked to find that away she had flown,
over his dreams, above the fluffy white clouds, never to return
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 6:33 PM UTC
In silent hours, our inner art takes flight
Society shouts, yet silence hides the gold within
A spring of beauty flows, concealed in silent light
How can we break the chains that bind the soul of our art?
A secret song lies veiled, awaiting day from night
Dream of a world where melodies dance with the wind
To every hand that labors, crafting wrong to right
We’ll shatter silence of society’s black coffin
And carve its wood to sing with art’s immortal might.
Dec 24, 2024
Dec 24, 2024 at 5:35 PM UTC