MASTER STROKES

This is how I spent my Monday. Writing! Nature always inspires me to write. The more I observe it, the more I am amazed at the way it functions. Here are a few lines to the creator, who I feel is the best artist…

 

This morning, I lay down

In the open,

On my terrace

Silently appreciating

An artist at work

 

Above me,

Miles away,

Lay his cosmic canvas,

To begin with,

He decorated it with soft blue

 

I saw him,

The Master,

With his enormous palette,

Dip his brush in gold,

And seconds later,

I had a burning bright,

Ball of light,

Winking at me,

Through the blues

 

I could feel,

The sun

The warmth of its kiss,

On my forehead,

I closed my eyes,

And went to sleep

 

At noon, the gentle wind

 And light rain

Broke my nap,

I woke up,

To see the Master

Still at work…

 

All the galleries

In the world,

All the artists put together,

Cannot match

Up to his brush’s stroke

 

Be it Vinci’s Last Supper or Mona Lisa,

Or Michelangelo’s Adam on Sistine Chapel,

Or Gogh’s Starry Night

Or Picasso’s Guernica

 

I could see

The cotton-like clouds,

The silhouette of birds flying,

And slowly his blue canvas,

Had turned dark grey

 

And his creation came alive

In the evening,

With the heavy rain,

Beating the mushy soil,

Linking the earth to the sky

In a stream of water

I rushed inside

To my bed

 

Late at night,

I still found,

The Master at work

And I wondered,

Does he ever sleep?

Dawn to dusk,

He was at work…

 

I saw him sprinkle his dark canvas,

With silver...

And the sky twinkled in joy,

With zillions of little diamonds,

And we were blessed,

With a starry night

For The Master was still at work…