Lurks somewhere..

Painting is a lot like poetry; a means for an unbridled expression with the veil of a well-concealed exterior. Overflowing with what is not obvious(to the eye), a lot lurks in the shadow of every stroke...


Lurks somewhere,

the depth of sadness
in the many dimensions of pain,
the brightness in flowery colors
smothered by a dark stain
the freedom of whatever
in the realm of forever
staining the white
into expressions struggling to define the right
a stroke to contradictions, another to defeat
a deepened scar of the red, with a shade of deceit
casual spring merged with earthy grace
wandering happiness that some contours embrace
to cherish , to spin into memories
in a veil of abstraction, definite stories
dreams gilded, bound by oil
a cooking kitchen for the inner turmoil
a peaceful white
some artificial light
a fall leaf
a faraway sight

lurks somewhere

shuffling across the many layered
shades never owned or bared
brushes always guarded and protected
never allowed to influence
the shapes of time and space
the control a mere pretence

lurks somewhere

all this and more, in closed and open doors
in wooden faces and checkered floors
in landscapes , dunes and mountains by the sea
in all that was and all that could never be,

lurks somewhere

an introspection
a submission
a regret a little history
a tinge of laughter
a longtime victory

lurks somewhere

in my canvas
s o m e w h e r e