It happens in the most unexpected ways. When you’re going about your daily routine
I had a purple chair when I was little, with a bright yellow smiley face painted on it It was the chair I sat on to eat, play or read.
We decorate pain in everyday life. Amidst the intricacies of nature and labyrinth of creation, we find ways to decorate pain Through stormy hail and torrential rains, we decorate pain with a dainty rainbow, In the darkest nights we decorate pain with specks of shimmering stars. Through the circle of life, the blooming and withering…
Is art about finding the right canvas, vibrant colours, and perfect set of brushes? Is it about the way the easel stands facing the light so you notice every stroke of paint, every dot and splash?
The sun is bright and harsh Searing through the vast sky Onto deserted roads And empty boulevards that once held ringing laughter.
Words. They hold so much vigour, The power to create, the power to destroy. Words. They are the instrument of expression Painting every emotion. Words. They are music to the ears Creating a rhapsody to remember. Words. They are a writer’s pride A priceless gift from the muse. Words. They hold life and meaning And…
It is always a story that chooses us and gives us the opportunity to give it life. From ages ago when history began to take shape, and culture unfolded like a gilded carpet The people we met, the milestones we crossed The discoveries and the wonders of the Universe, We gather those memories, those awe-filled…
Some days you notice the rain and not the rainbow, Some days struggles scream louder than victory And the journey seems tedious when you can’t see the destination.
The invisible hand moves on the vast canvas, Moving the paintbrush with flourish, the Artist creates-
Today I thought about what I should write Shall I write about the morning rays dancing through my window panes? Or about the little plant sprouting in the pot by the ledge?