There is a humility in art,
Where simplicity plays its part.
There is an excitement
Of primordial sensations,
Solubility and Insolubility of textures,
And the sublime fluid,
Of deconstructions.
Its’ menace haunts,
A View in the Dark.
The forms are stolid.
Black and stark.
Beyond Black is where
The hues play Hide ‘n’ Seek.
Surfacing,
Resurfacing,
Diving headlong,
Into the absence of a peak.
The smudge and the smog,
In the dizziness of Desire,
Are the nuances of a beige fog,
Perturbed in a Vertical Blue retire.
All the lines ******,
As they refuse to talk,
Questioning the lingering persuasion,
Of the eyes that stalk.
The dawn silence
Answers in a luxuriant red,
When rebellious strokes,
Keep dancing on that fiery bed.
Fragments keep coalescing into a whole,
It pulsates against the senses,
This Illusion of the soul.
This song is bright,
Even in the absence of light,
The Song of Silence,
Portrays an indomitable might.
The Mirage looks back,
Like every familiar stranger,
The unsettling Rejoicing Red,
Such impacts can auger.
Blossom in dark,
Through Dark and Deep,
Rhythm of tones,
A View in a Dream.
Alone breathes the Isolated Red,
As The Melodies in Grey
Resonate
What the Resonance of Blues
Had left unsaid.
There is a bucolic symmetry,
A revelling immortal mystery,
In The Meditative Silence,
Of
Gopi Gajwani
A poet's ode to an artist.
