An Ode to Water

Oh, Water!

You are tasteless, and yet I salivate in your longing.

You are colourless, and yet you deluge my life with vibrancy.

You are odourless, and yet you dissolve my senses.

Your beauty lies in my eyes.

My eyes, they shed you, as an ode to you.

My Line

Inspired by the debate in French art between the 'line' of Ingres and the 'colour' of Delecroix, here goes:

An ivory sheet, and a pencil.

That pencil tempts me, and so I caress it and let it flow between my fingers.

I let it flow on this ivory sheet, hovering at an exact distance.

Contemplating on what figment of my imagination, I will realize today.

I make it stop in an upright position, as does a fearless soldier who is ready to drop a bomb on my command.

It drops a dot.

I let it seek refuge on my index finger, and drag it across the ivory sheet.

Proud of its sacrifice, it leaves a mark on its motherland.

You deserve it.

But alas, the pastels attack!

They extend from one boundary to another, parallel and harmonized in their invasion.

Their vibrancy dissipates laterally, as they appear to move against The Light.

Nevertheless, they smear their power across my ivory sheet.

They overshadow my line.

You did not deserve this.

You are still the Maker of my world.

Disguise

I stand on the surface of water,

Bent.

For if I straighten myself, I might just sink.

My back hurts under the strain of expectation.

I am crying.

With every tear I shed, I hope to lose a morsel of my mass, and hence, afford a degree to the top.

I can see myself in the water.

I can see the blood in my veins getting diluted to tears.

I can see the warm liquid that my eyelid cradles in the guise of a smile.

I am in the guise of a smile.

Freeze and Thaw

I thought I’ll preserve the cell,

So I kept it in cold storage.

I froze life, I stopped time.

It deceived death. I made it.

And then I thawed and thawed.

I tried to revive it,

But it had lost its integrity.

You can’t cheat fate.

As the piano music played, I thought of him

The boundary of the water, slowly receding,

To the rhythm,

Exposing the ground that it had never hidden.

My feet tapping, splashing the little there was,

Drops flying to territories unknown.

A little window on the top,

Radiating a darkness, distraught,

Wind blurring the light, the little there was.

As the piano music plays, I think of him.

A little smile on my face,

A gleam in my eye, an eye I could not see,

An eye I wish he could,

Although, it was as much his, how could he?

The music getting faster,

My feet a haze, their sound, a drone,

A tear in my eye,

Usurping the gleam with a gleam.

As the piano music played, I thought of him.

I miss his face, his voice, his hair,

His eyes.

His lips when he looks at me,

His scent.

His hands on me; on the black and white keys,

Flowing as water, caressing,

He absorbs their effect: clockwork, counter-clockwork.

He absorbs me.

As does music. His music. Him.

He is music to me.

Circle

I stared at the circle that refused to end.

It was deceivingly straight at every bend.

Every point tried to maintain its distance from the arrogance of the centre,

Stringing with the ally at an angle of balanced evasion and synchrony.

Protecting in curved disarray, the beauty of negative space.

And unwittingly,

The Nemesis.

I stared at the circle that refused to end.

It embodied infinity in mere juxtaposition.

Every point experienced an outward force that threatened to appropriate,

Making the circumference vibrate and confuse my stolid vision.

Protecting in unity, the enigma of endlessness.

And unwittingly,

The Truth.

Raindrop

I love the rain. And I love the raindrop.

It swallows the sunlight into its little bubble of oblivion,

And plays around with it as if it were a little ball of gold,

A ball that strikes different spots of the bubble from the inside,

Making it glisten.

But its heat is almost scared of the coldness of the water,

And so it rebounds as soon as it hits,

Repulsed by the thought of striking something so cold,

Yet choosing to stay within, out of respect for the purity.

And so these little drops of gold have a constant upheaval within them,

And yet they stay together because they trust each other.

And when they strike the ground, they grow apart:

The water dissipates into the water,

And the light floats around in it.

And although, they seem to be separated, the truth of it is,

The light is relishing a rediscovered freedom.

And instead of depending, as it were,

It is sharing.