Oblivion

Before I saw the empty glass, I wondered what its emptiness would feel like.

I had sucked all the liquid from within it, such that the molecules were spaced enough to transition into air.

But that crystal did not realize that it did not hold wine any more.

It glistened more brightly than before, for I had distilled its opaqueness.

It stood there gallantly, despite me having raped it.

Before I saw the empty glass, I wondered what its emptiness would feel like.

Now I know

It did not know.

There is no art in perfection. For character is born from the lack of it.

True Love

True love is when you receive the reverence that you bequeath.

True love is when you create.

For that which you create is yours alone,

To love.

True love.

Imagine

For I had lost the hope and will,

Surrendered to the bloody drill,

Where I was none but commonplace,

With a humdrum smile and hollow face.

When had I lost my passion to live?

Placate my thoughts, forgo, forgive?

Where was that innocent gullible joy,

Of dreams of love in a virginal boy?

Why did I age across my tomb,

When I was waging to mamma’s womb?

But then my thoughts were brushed aside,

By swishing wind that proddedly pried.

It hummed to me in a monotonous flow,

“When I get cold, I stoop below.

But when I gain energy and heat,

I carry myself to a hundred feet.

I find this heat in fire and earth,

Those I conquer, beget my birth.”

It was then I found the courage in me,

To close my eyes to insipidity.

For all the vision I had needed to walk,

Was in the thought that the wind could talk.

An Ode to Van Gogh

My life is like an oil painting.

Till the colour has dried, even a glance of the paintbrush leaves an indelible mark.

But once imprinted, I can paint over it again and again to engender new beginnings.