In whose sketch
I draw my veins as an ephemeral art
breathing air on a limited canvas
wearing skins hiding inner lines
Take a huff of my petty rage
That cut my voice
With a silent brush
Spilling colours into channelled curves
Those paintings, that hung
on the walls are better; that
take longer age than mine:
A mere me with cul de sac
A profound,challenging poem.
So much thanks dear Vijay Nair Sir!
This author’s poetic acumen is once again to the fore in this outing which navigates a little further the uncharted depths of existential discourse.
It’s a real honor to have thy words, more precious than a jewel! So much thanks dear Sir Louis Kasatkin!
Poignant!