Continuous work in progress....
Life, Love...Death
is more of a complicated underlay of magical hues …a bursting
struggles, challenges and chances...
like an unstretched canvas that wont hold the paint…blistering
intricate brush strokes by everyday hands, thinly layering, yet obscuring
like a focused self-made painter not quite a master...just vanishing
new love, old flames, memories and futures
like a lover's kiss on lips that can't get enough, a re-birth....anticipating
a mirage for the thirsty, ravaging inhibitions from within, yet …inviting
like an audience at a comedy theatre booing supposedly…just laughing
has been, never been and never will be
a sketch of beating hearts, an emotion
a pulse, a sigh, an, a smile, a tear,
a journey, a pose...how do you describe your life's painting?
03.02.10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem