The Artist

I, a trickling drop upon your visage;
Gently carving out my path, creating art!
The scars I leave upon your cheeks,
The scars upon your ashen visage,
In each stroke, each shade of colour I draw forth,
I leave in you, a marvel; a work of art!
I know! I hear! I feel! In the faltering rhythms of your heart;
The gentle smile you hide beneath these barren rocks...
You love the artist in me and the art I carve onto you...
You love me, my gentle self,
Slowly trickling down your barren self,
" No" I hear you, as I descend,
And away, I flow on, for art awaits me afar...
And yet, oh boulder! I love thy eyes...
I love the thunderous rhythms of your roaring heart...
I love the ever-silenced symphonies, you let me hear...
The faltering self you let me behold,
As I wound you, shallow and deep...
A masterstroke here, a sharp stroke upon your brow,
And many a gentle stroke all along...
I love not the scars I carve deep,
And yet, I hate not the art I carve.
And, you, my palette, moist with tears;
An invisible trail of blood deep within...
I see not your gritting teeth;
You do not flinch.
And, yet, I see you silence your pain.
You love my art, you love my masterstrokes...
In silence, you bear the pain ...
The colours I draw forth, the scars I leave behind,
The trophies you shall with pride reminisce
In the solitude, my descent leaves behind...
I am, oh boulder! The elixir;
Life that carves deep unto each mortal bearing memories,
Striking wounds, and yet a marvellous art!
Emotions, smiles, tears, and joys,
all sewn into a tiny droplet trickling down...
Intricate master strokes of passion and art!
And, yet my friend, I see you weep as I descend,
You love me, my art and yet in vain,
Yearns for my ever-flowing formless self!
Staying forever... No, I can't!
I am an artist and you, my canvas...
And, yet in each descend, with each scar I leave,
Fragments of your fragrance, I take away...
"It's a gift",you say.
It wears you down.
And, yet in vain, I watch you awaiting rain,
And me trickling down; my gentle strokes of passion
And me trickling down; my gentle strokes of passion ...
I descend, I let free fountains of art...
I descend, flow farther and beyond...
I love you, oh boulder! Although, I never shall stay.
"Were they mere moments for memories", you ask.
They weren't ...
They're moments of marvel,
Paradise trickling down,
Carving out a path onto mortal lives,
As I, an artist wielded art,
And beauty for the gleaming eyes marvelling your sight...

By Athira Sreejith