Roots
Roots penetrate; appearance changes while your mind dwells in a distant corner.
“That’s how scars are created: on your return.”
Sentiment neglected and vanished beneath a luminous green foliage.
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An Agitator
An agitator skipped his way through different obstacles across the studio floor; immovable pieces of canvas and paint tubes that weigh heavily on his conscience. A day filled with a heightened sense of awareness for all external concerns; but none of his own.
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In The Free
“I will leave for a few days.”
What does it mean? Your companions, do they exist?
Unfolded, unveiled…. restricted.
I’m sure it was you, but where is the grin in the face of victory? New memories created while nostalgia subsides. At the end of it all, all things are fine.
Refined to the core.
Buried in the sand with a can overfilled with cigarette buds.
In a nutshell all in denial only the smell.
Oval shaped vermillion red. Lessened the cause,
Becoming two or three bull eyes.
Deadly centred. Fully clarified.
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Equanimity
I’d love to hear that sound resonates, in fact, if only I could eat it, chew on it and digest it thoroughly.
I could even spit it out and observe how little cluster of bubbles, sparse out around it.
Oh! How they are so frightened!
On the back of my hand, one sees a last-minute buffoon so eager to please, so hopelessly out of fashion.
Such nervous wait.
Grey and weary.
In control yet deceitful.
Indecisive chaos.
Where inner battles are fought.
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Thin air
Sweetness in spots spread like a plague.
Second chance remakes, all the same.
A mere carefree confession ends all.
Glued to the mark, dark, damp place, on sticky concave.
Concrete resolutions, popcorn and six pack.
You are on the other side, you ambiguous jelly-like form dissolved into thin air.
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A brave new world
Driven to the brink of idleness, in a moment of desperation, I grasped the decision to act upon my own instinct; from the corner and beyond, triggered by randomness, held back by limitations, moved forward by optimism, blindfolded by the sense of duty, obsessed with the outcome, questioned the failures, redeemed the failures, confused by the new revelation, worn down by the night, excited by taking a step back, threatened by the new perspective, and feeling no joy nor sadness.
Experience arises, and knowledge becomes the by-product.
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On Cactus
I haven’t been anywhere but here, at home.
I have been everywhere but here, by the windowsill.
At times, I have this immense desire to witness greenery in my surrounding, not on the streets, in the park, but my immediate surrounding, my den, my spiritual home. It is very pleasant in the eyes to see plants by the windowsill, an indication that someone is really putting effort into their ever-increasing uncertain but passive life. It’s cactus for me! I desired it, just one pot, only one. Cactus sits there gradually expand and gradually forgotten. Not me! Now and then I’m reminded of this one and only cactus, of course, I am charitable enough to pay attention. Again, it’s time to head to the studio.
One painting at a time disjointed harmony.