the past keeps bleeding itself,
blurring all the edges,
paint myself into new days,
where dawn n dusk dance
i am out of time,
yes completely timeless,
like a wax doll
blinking away the emptiness,
of dark nights,
spent alone
n memory's museum
paintings of different poses,
rearranged n posted,
my 9th birthday,
finding the ocean,
coming home,
leaving you,
attempted suicides,
caught in brushstrokes,
of knotted ropes,
crimson slashes,
silence where my lips used to be,
n then reinvented,
years of modern art,
the hollowness of family photo albums,
the nostalgia of your voice,
a bitter circle,
wrapped tight n poetry,
an art that
kills n resurrects me by turns,
while i burn in the sun,
or melt in the rain,
losing myself n
finding myself again,
glass eyes,
seeing not seeing,
a plastic smile,
yesterdays art,
reinvents itself,
n the gallery keeps filling
these versions of me
unknown paintings,
moving onto fresh screens.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice poem with plenty of depth. Beautifully conceived. Good vivid imagery. Great stuff. A perfect...10 Thanks for sharing..... Please read and rate my poem 'A humble complaint' on page 2