Tag Archives: voice
“aBsTRAct” – My painting
i feel the ripples
the bubbles
the swelling
the curling
and the rushing
of your heart
.
i hear the sounds
the voice
the noise
the tone
and the crying
of your chest
.
i tried to sketch
to draw
to outline
to etch
and finally to paint
.
but i’m in trouble
i can’t decide
what color
what hue
what pigmentation
how intense
the saturation
would be
.
i can’t picture
the face
the hair
the eyes
the nose
the lips
and the skin
.
yes,
no,
i can’t do it
i can’t start it
.
maybe tonight
in the deep of darkness
in the silence of everything
i can paint the whole canvass
with several colors and figures
i will cry my tears
and create a dream
which only you and i
can understand to see
the meaning of the lines and dots
the horizontals and the verticals
the slanted, inclined, angled and the tilting
made by the ends of the brush
which
only you and i could fathom
and i will call it
“ABSTRACT”
Was it a dream?
.
tonight, tomorrow, and everyday
the hour, minutes and the past seconds
i can’t hold my brains they sway
outside my thoughts running errands
.
imagining and conceiving a plan
weaving into lengths of cloth its thread
but still fibers scatter out like a fan
can’t be one disunited into shred
.
flying out of memory and into the sky
where it is further thinned by the surging air
and after a while it is blown and left to die
forgotten in the midst of nowhere
.
again i’ll let the mind gather some scenes
and like movies there are talking lines
the voice was bad don’t know what it means
better to sleep soundly than interpret the signs
.
-oOo-
MAN
by
the hut owner
the lazy days dismally dragged on by
obstructing time, so hard, creeping a cry
diligent arms, linking with virulent tongues
the heart didn’t listen, the mouth had fangs
the dubiety, the plea, were often left ignored
the rebirth of a morning from a depthless snored
the voice that was yours, it did not listen
the answer that was mine, it was all missin’
the night recovered, fool’s paradise came forth
a rerun of scenes, came running south to north
racing against time, the khaki sounds awake,
breath held my hands up quite by mistake
wee hours fell in, morning eyes still closed
the mind’s awake, the thought was doused
the flattened face, oblique imprints of pillows
shadows of dent dredged the trance in hollows
orange circle waving the rising heat of sun
cooling breeze, soothing the rays for a perfect tan
sands of white, gyrating waves murmured around
morning warm kiss of natures’ freshness abound
sleep, dream and then fully awake
this man’s cycle, Someone has bothered make
an Almighty Creator didn’t gamble a mistake
creating these mysteries not half but fully baked..
–oOo–
the hut owner blog 