wanderlust

A Manifesto For All Struggling Artists

Photography by Jack Davison

I was in love with a man who used to love his pen for the way it used to flow on the paper.
I was in love with a man who swayed words so meticulously; that they used to feel coy.
Yet this world couldn’t understand he was a frantic monk – words being blessing in disguise.

Thou artist, thy art!

He was half-starved as he couldn’t find people of his kin.
Looking at this world as a prisoner, he felt his words will vanish all the sufferings.
All those people, all those thoughts; limitless yet limited.
He crossed the horizon and found world around him missing.
He held his pen aggressively; penning  down all the chaos.
He thought his pen will end all the pre-conceived bounds.

Thou artist, thy art!

I was passionate about a man whose love was disparate.
His words played with me, consuming all we had.
I had seen him whispering endearments with his pen.
How could I be jealous ?
When I knew about his fondness with the stains of ink, what was his zen.

Thou artist, thy art!

—
Submitted to ArtParasites by Sagrika Kissu

Be the first to write a comment.

Your feedback