Death of an Artist
Break
the brush
and hang the nib down
until it cuts
the wrist through its rough edges
Mixed
with blood clots
Color weaves
Small beads of prayers
With shades of red
Spurting over canvas
Setting the art and heart apart
Beating
the rush
To come out
As the heart tries to pump
Veins popping in and out
And the Mind reaches a full stop
End
Of Breath, Blood or Ego
A stroke of genius
Killing it all
Edges of nib slowly pinching the veins
Eroding the Vision
It’s a sky fall
From a universe
into the oceans of universe
Spread across
In proxy wars between false shaman and prophets
Our He(art) has betrayed us
Paving the way for another dark night
As rain betrays the clouds
Patches of dry circles filled with Praying Mantis
Neither venomous nor Strong
Just a tiny bit of humans circling the sun around
Death
An artist’s impression to feel alive
Until his wrists twitches in hopes of new stories untold
My demise was never proclaimed
To gulch on this tormented mind till I am naught but hollowed eyes!!
