-Arjun Yanglem
I found her on the bank of the Seine
gazing at the stars,
as the days went on
she sang and splashed colour all over.
The miles of canvas I brought her
and the words she sang,
floated in the air and died away,
echoing in some strange, far away cavern.
But,
they also simultaneously
found expression
in her painted world,
forever immortalised in the world of paint
until time saw fit to ravage
the depths of expression found there.
And then came
the lights, the blitz,
the photojournalists, the glamour, the fame
for such art couldn't bear
to be left alone.
And whoever saw it, felt
all that raw emotion
screaming to get out.
And then, as beauty fades
so did the attention
slowly, and then all at once,
sinking, sucked away like water drops
in the vast desert of ignominy
which has welcomed so many others.
And now, as I write
I remeber that feeling of freedom,
when the only thirst I wanted to quench
was the taste of raindrops on my tongue.
The only lights I wanted to see
were the stars,
and the only company I craved
was the wind rustling through the trees.
I sang without thinking of
who could hear me,
I flicked paint with my brush
mirroring the world I glimpsed
through my eyes.
And
not a thought for
how other eyes would see how I saw,
for all the satisfaction I craved was
only mine to give.
And now
I sit in a dusty, mouldy old flat
the dust moths dancing the
beams of sunlight criss-crossing the floor,
and I try to reconnect
with that same
feeling...
of freedom.
And the paintbrush lies, new and gleaming
right in front of me
waiting yo be picked up and set free.