I am sketching my life but my fingers ain’t graphite. I still try and the strokes are invisible to naked eye. I close my eyes and don’t have to think twice for what I have done with my life. Say your prayers to the skies, they go in vain; watch the rain as it goes down the drain but still I pray. The canvas bleeds the stories of my unheard grief. I was once a sun ready to burn, now I am a moth afraid of light, embracing the darkness; a portrait of black and white.
Colours are for the blessed and for the wicked, it’s just pain. When all is lost, there’s something to be found and it’s too late until we realise what’s lost was lost, searching for what’s been found. “The world is my canvas”, I tell myself, “but soul is what I lost”.
I look for my soul; the one that I lost, amidst the congregation of fools. My muted screams fall on the ears deaf. I search inside for a reason to fight, basking in the oceans of my reputed losses.
And a voice whispers from the inside
“But you found life!”
In collaboration with Bharath, The Great!