It has become a joke...
The relentless pricking of a cruel pin…
A hundred worms gnawing through my skin…
And I laugh as...
The feverish strokes of my brush effectively numb…
What is left is crushed, by the colors on my thumb…
I am a stubborn bitch...
This pain, it is not me or mine…
As long as I can blog, write and paint, my me and mine is fine.
I have analgesics...
These pricks, these bruises I do not own
My canvas will sigh, my words will scream, my colors will moan…
Chintan, many thanks!
This one is for my sanity, and for you!
7 comments:
The joke became the joker
The prick in your stroke
The colours subdued, but screaming in rage
I see in red, the black trickles from his eyes - the power of an image, the words... but deeper, the vent that warranted it.
Call me a joker, call me a fool. Right at this moment I'm totally cool.
oh jamuna....don't know what to say....you are brilliant, girl...simply brilliant :-) hugs....I love you :-)
You are bordering on madness... and you like it! Not the part that you are mad, but the fact that you are sane enough to enjoy it. Joker.
Rage more. It helps.
- Paro.
...Not languaging it :)
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