Vincent Poem by prabhakar bhatlekar

'No Vincent, I've no strength
to hold your obsession
and suffocation dribble through
your thick brush-strokes'
I closed my eyes not to see them.
'You're there...poor man's
mad saint. You drank passion
of the panting coal-miners
then turned to your canvas'
I opened my eyes and looked again
those mixed colours of
Vincent's own crazy world.
How his conscious pushed him
on the dog's path.
He touched the hidden light
through the dark agony...
and simply walked in his canvas.
'Vincent, to your restless soul
you sang a lullaby in colours.
In the rage of your exaggerated
brilliance you probed density
of Red in your own blood.
Time went on carving out
haunting images of you
in to the eternity and you're
there, an immortal soul.