COLLAGE
Bellies
protruded out,
A
lithograph in blood
Below
the waist,
Fatal
consummation
Forged
passes and ports
A
Promised Land
boomeranged,
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.
GOODBYE,
AUTEUR
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,
stood
crucified.
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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