My Interpretation & Decoration of Poetical Ideas, Messages, Information and Resources.

Archive for the ‘Arts’ Category

Black and white film

Black and white color wash,
brightness and vividness of the color orange,
over the sea horizon,
flew to the other side,
sunset elongating longings,
sailors sailing,
the longest farthest voyage,
black and white film,



A tower stands on a hill,
an appearance so resplendent,
a collection of stories,
of thousands of generations,
painstakingly enshrined within it,
the clouds shelter it from the storm,
the harp-like laurel tree praises it,

The quiet life


building a quiet courtyard,

fence made from fragrant roses,

morning glories are,

the security locks,

some uninvited guests,

breaking in,


The sound of flute

The dark blue sea,

a town of trees,

of red bricks and tiles,

sitting in the shade of a tree,


listening to the sweet sound of the flute,

the playful waves,

they come and disturb,

from time to time,



An upright gargoyle,
hidden in moonlight,
wrapped in sunlight,
hilly wood is a lasting dream,
rivers are,
but flowing sadness,
weaving a boat with feathers,
a gaze carrying melting snow,
a mouth chewing fallen leaves,
rolling whitecaps,
like the sound of,
the evening drum,
the morning bell,
the distance,
on the tip of nose,
in confusion.


You’ve seen a lot of paintings,

you’ve watched many operas,

you’ve worn many pairs of ballet slippers,

you’ve tuned countless strings,

you’ve traveled to every bookstore round the corner,

you wake yourself up with symphonies every morning,

you listen to classical music while jogging every evening,

you always dine with cutlery,

you only buy clothes with nostalgic laces,

they don’t understand your artiness,

they don’t understand your life,

you’re happy sometimes,

and quiet sometimes,

any explanation is futile,

the sun will always rise tomorrow,

beauty doesn’t equal artiness,




and delightful,

arty or aloof,

or deserted,

it’s a little mood,

a little idea,

it’s woolgathering,

it’s stargazing,

it’s dreaming,

it’s faint,

it’s remote,

it’s cold,

it’s touching,

it’s lightsome,

it’s free,


and selfless.




FIne Arts Museum

Here i’m admiring,

murals, paintings, watercolors abound,

a whisper,

can make the hall shake,

those clear and apparent thoughts,

are being consumed,


what the eyes can see,

the nose can smell,

the hand can touch,

are inlaid in this hall,

no one dares to hawk,

no auctioneers,

just arts,


it’s like a timeless sculpture,

still static things,

beauty is always so intoxicating,

in the most conspicuous place,

i see an oil painting,

hanging in the center of the hall,

people just don’t want to leave.

A wave of people,

they left,

a new wave of them,


and stopped,

in front of that painting,

it is too beautiful,

fascinating and salivating,

spaces in the hall,

full of people,

in front of the paintings,

lovers bill and coo.

crowd dispersed,

walking out,

still looking around,

as if they will miss,

an entire century,

if they missed a painting,

what kind of painting exactly,

was that,

venus with a broken arm,

or an angel in dreamland,

the crowd wondering,

and so am i.

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