I never read your poetry.
But  I know you always write for me.

Often the paintings keep expressing in unexpected ways
Freeing their internal spirit and the weight of subjects spreading their rays
They come alive with simple joy, touch and taste
Muddy smell of earth fills in their nostrils chaste
The painting of spring bloom of palash
Spreads its fragrance all around and abash
The paintings of the blue sea
Tastes salty and the waves dance in glee
Paintings of huts with Cowdung mopped floor
Straw and hey roof and vessels earthenware
Appear sophisticated and fair
All the painting S's consciousness seems collective
Classical theme of rare subject is objective
Painting canvas is loaded with variety of motifs
Birds, animals, nature all appear natural not stiff
To determine artist's imagery remains a puzzle tough

As always
In the mornings
He pushed the wooden cart
Full of bananas
In torrential rains
Incomplete rain gear,
Missing footwear
Were his feet made of steel
Not to be hurt
By the pebbles and pointed stones
Laid in the holes, that the rains had dug
The man made his way
A usual day
Life
In the city of dreams


🌿🌿

Positivity is good
until
the reality is also realised....

I'm so happy now
I have snapped out of my Depresion
My anxiety has waved goodbye
Life is beauful
People are accepting
I only cry like once a day
























I lied.
I lied