By Deeshita Ghoshal
Cries unheard,
A beaming face displayed.
The tears dried on the cheeks,
Stretching the skin into a smile.
A mask, thus, for the turmoil inside.
Emotions within then took to art,
A single colour on a canvas fragile -
Ever abstract and always deep,
Pain, thus, became a pleasure.
The rivers that ran from the eyes,
Now took form on the canvas bank.
Low tides slowly became high,
Abstract slowly turned dark,
And when every stroke became a stab,
Alas, did the canvas tear,
The paint overflowing,
And the artist placid.
By Deeshita Ghoshal
Comments