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Writer's pictureDhairya vyas

A work of art

Artistic beauty of the land and the sky improved by imperfection,

A single canvas and similar colours, but a varying perception.

Melancholic mirages of the mind torment the soul for a while,

Each heart a different shade and all eyes a different stroke, ah! what a delicate deception...


Playful eyes on an enticing escapade,

Frolicking aimlessly encaged within the skull, painting pictures that could never fade,

Ignorant of the perfections of the universe which allowed us to exist in this moment,

Aware of the imperfections of the mortal self alas, failing to realize each soul uniquely made.


What is man on this canvas of everlasting ecstasy, a mere droll,

What is man who thinks of himself almighty, in front of the universe ever so small,

Man is a work of art made too, shades of each deceiving but beautiful,

All they need to dive in the hearts of others and stop the barbaric brawl.


A fool is the mortal who fails to enjoy the art that is the world, the people, the self,

Drowning in abyss of the mind's catastrophic constructs, untouched books of wisdom decorated on the shelf.

Trying to fit in the existing colours, instead of mixing shades of their own,

Feeding the body and the mind ignorant of the undying soul, worried of all else..


Souls with archaic ambitions in the new fast world not trapped but to bring colours of their own,

The income of happiness dependent on an outsider's validating loan,

Afraid of not fitting in, but fitting in the puzzle was never the objective,

The canvas is never full, more space to fill the colours into which one has grown.


The one drowned in blue from failure, shall see the bright colour of the yellow sun and try again,

The one engulfed in red from anger and hate, shall reach helping arms and cry again.

All are lost and that is the beauty of the art of life,

The one caged in colourless thoughts, shall spread his wings and fly again.....


It matters not, if we are closer than ever or poles apart,

Quiet the mind's chatter and listen to the beating heart,

We have our colours and the canvas of life ever empty, what a life! what a world! what a vision!

What a work of art...


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