Bellies protruded out,
A lithograph in blood
Below the waist,
Forged passes and ports
A Promised Land
Ethnicity crying foul.
One dark finger and one plea
Commissioned gun shots
One shriek became the
shrine of evanescence.
Boyish charm, rugged cheeks
Symbolic at eighteen
warrior temperaments and
The Promised Land revealed
Night time disturbance
Day time defiance
Your chance, my demand
At last, a failed misery
The streets are gallows
Lofty with dead swallows
A dark landslide
Where chastened doves brood.
This is a special work, a tribute to the late great Indian painter Maqbool Fida Hussain. As such, I have poured my heart out about his influence on a whole generation, traversing pre independence and post Independent spectrum. As an admirer of his craft, I lay down my emotional connect with his unparalleled artistry in the form of words.
'Tis the civil disobedience of our times
Those who are raised from the dust
and elevated to the sky,
are sooner sacked to morgues of idealistic damnation.
It so happened
when barracks of filthy verbal mud slinging
and stone pelting broke and cracked open panes of an artist's glass house.
There, in solitary splendour
a man's deft strokes brought the easel to life,
made images fly in and out of the paint brush
and hues of minimalistic melody brokered tender rhythms
with the mind's open eye.
A brooch of colourful drama
An anklet of dreamy similitude
A coquetry of feminine beauty
A burst of unbridled expression.
Dancing were the portraits that angled for our attention,
communicating with cadences of a generation's sensory glide
singing a song of eternal spring,
nestled in the summer of imagination.
He was the God of small things,
a restless prince,
an exalted pauper in a land of open pageantry.
Rain, hail or storm
Thundering was the march of his creative stomp that rejuvenated youth.
Rained over a new era vital signs of renaissance,
held their hands and illuminated their shadows,
beautifying their stance.
Resplendent was his aura
They called him a visual Aurora,
whose sight beheld scenes of wonder and hailed his melody and mastery.
But for the contagion,
the world's slow stain.
The log of frenzied hate cannibalised his potency,
even before he called it a day.
Vandalising his spirit,
exiled him to the gardens of a deathly halo.
All through, he smiled and walked barefeet,
like a decorated wreath in a castle of headless ghosts.
The fag end was now near,
the champions had held their sticks and stones.
The legend, Christ like,
Garlands of spite and fading imprints were his dowry at this hour
while his heart bled and his eyes cried tears of a dying conscience.
With a giant thud,
he fell down,
turned to dust whilst his tears mellowed a sobbing humanity's last call.
The end was near and he knew it.
The disowned auteur's swansong was written.
Devoid of a grand exit,
he travelled to the other end of the horizon.
The adieu, long lived, still awaits an echo.
The auteur paints in bold strokes,
caressing the far end of the spectrum with his magical fingers.
His bare hands etch a scenery of vital redemption,
waiting to be draped in the tricolour of recognised voices,
robbed from him in the final act.
The writer's name is PRITHVIJEET SINHA from Lucknow, India . He is a post graduate in MPhil, having launched his writing career by self publishing on the worldwide community Wattpad since 2015 and on his WordPress blog AN AWADH BOY'S PANORAMA besides having his works published in several varied publications as GNOSIS JOURNAL, READER'S DIGEST, CAFE DISSENSUS EVERYDAY, CAFE DISSENSUS MAGAZINE, CONFLUENCE, THE MEDLEY, THUMBPRINT MAGAZINE, WILDA MORRIS' POETRY BLOG, SCREEN QUEENS, BORDERLESS JOURNAL encompassing various genres of writing ,from poetry to film reviews, travel pieces, photo essays to posts on culture. His life force resides in writing.
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