Sharp lines of soft curves
with shadowed hues that
meet with reproachful tints
over a tight woven canvas.
It met every brushed stroke
with supple taught resilience
that could only accept the
artist’s colour without demand
what did he say in his heart
as colour covered blankness?
Even in abstract thoughts
his palette of emotions strikes
across time and space hanging
with a galleried pomposity of
measured light, at what price?
An abstract piece of artist’s art
framed for what purpose and
if It doesn’t tell me should I ask?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A very well expressed poem indeed! I am fond of drawing and painting, but lack the talent to appreciate abstract art! I once heard two small boys in a modern art gallery conversing, ' Let's run away before someone catches us and say that we have done all this! ' With best wishes - Raj