Master Strokes Poem by Vinaya Joseph

Master Strokes

This morning, I lay down
In the open,
On my terrace
Silently appreciating
An artist at work

Above me,
Miles away,
Lay his cosmic canvas,
To begin with,
He decorated it with soft blue

I saw him,
The Master,
With his enormous palette,
Dip his brush in gold,
And seconds later,
I had a burning bright,
Ball of light,
Winking at me,
Through the blues

I could feel,
The sun
The warmth of its kiss,
On my forehead,
I closed my eyes,
And went to sleep

At noon, the gentle wind
And light rain
Broke my nap,
I woke up,
To see the Master
Still at work…

All the galleries
In the world,
All the artists put together,
Cannot match
Up to his brush's stroke

Be it Vinci's Last Supper or Mona Lisa,
Or Michelangelo's Adam on Sistine Chapel,
Or Gogh's Starry Night
Or Picasso's Guernica

I could see
The cotton-like clouds,
The silhouette of birds flying,
And slowly his blue canvas,
Had turned dark grey

And his creation came alive
In the evening,
With the heavy rain,
Beating the mushy soil,
Linking the earth to the sky
In a stream of water
I rushed inside
To my bed

Late at night,
I still found,
The Master at work
And I wondered,
Does he ever sleep?
Dawn to dusk,
He was at work…

I saw him sprinkle his dark canvas,
With silver...
And the sky twinkled in joy,
With zillions of little diamonds,
And we were blessed,
With a starry night
For The Master was still at work…

Sunday, August 17, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: nature
This is how I spent my Monday. Writing! Nature always inspires me to write. The more I observe it, the more I am amazed at the way it functions. Here are a few lines to the creator, who I feel is the best artist…
Vinaya Joseph

Vinaya Joseph

Hyderabad, Andhra Pradesh
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