Aswin Krishna

Aswin Krishna Poems

The Best Poem Of Aswin Krishna

The Portrait

He was all set with his colors,
A bit of saffron to the edges,
Not too dark, serene must it be.
And the eyes, amorous as it should be.

His hands, so gently did move,
Upon the portrait he just drew.
Adore the artist, embrace its beauty,
The nude portrait was such a cutie.

Her flames made him melt,
And near his bed a frame did he set-
For the portrait to be hung beside him-
Forever, his love for her at every glim.

The lonely early days of an artist
Spent in drugs, drinks and lust-
Made his own existence unaware,
For, nevertheless, he'd nothing to care.

The portrait hung with all its glory,
Showering the essence of its own beauty.
Staring at his "love" did he kill-
The sprinting time that never stood still.

The next scene, Alas, was worth explaining,
Maybe, his alcoholic eyes were so deceiving.
He found the lover's belly bulging,
"What in the world's just happening? "

His hands shivered and lips trembled,
And like a cripple, his movements confined.
Never ever has he seen,
A scene so insane

His drum beat was heard aloud,
And the lady, in the belly, was stabbed-
Adding to the painting, I'm afraid,
An unevenly spread thick red shade.

A wave of blood engulfed him-
Drowning, waiting for his end to come.
With a last glance of the portrait, he had-
The last gasp of this weary world.

The wind pushed the half drunk bottle down,
Near the artist who met his ruin.
The portrait smiled as it ever did,
With a crack in its frame, still splendid.

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