The paint has not dried
The Master still paints
Much that I see is unfinished
Much that was has died
But still I breathe the same varnish
The polish yet to mirror the pain
I have but eyes that have missed a comet’s death
A sadness the stars have but felt
In the passing a truth
In the flash a light
In the tail a sadness of eons
Scorn hurtling blindly into the arc of eternity
The paint, yes, the paint
The trident and its MASTER
Now swish and sway inside the cosmic dance
Rivers roar, the seas explode, the mountains disappear
The Master paints serenely the quite countryside
The sound of bells on sheep follow the grass
A melody of peace
An illusion of calm
A story of an incomplete painting
That hides the torment of a soul inside.
July 06,2010 Hyderabad India
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
WOW! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! YOur work is simply superb.............there is such an amount mystic element in it that simply words cant praise it..........the work has both images and emotional pathos and secret truths embedded and I dont it seems appalling and baffling to my senses..............you have done so great................