not a president or a celebrity…but just an ARTIST.

The Artist

 

He wakes up every night,

Shook by his dreams,

Sitting in the dark

Hums a silent prayer,

With a hope in heart

To reach the light,

He walks through deep forests,

Leaps over high mountains,

Neither now nor today,

But he does it forever

For he knows

None gains without pain.

 

His eyes open every morning,

Allured by manoeuvring glimpses—

He saw with him eyes closed

And hopes to gaze it once with open eyes,

Acceded to his thoughts and dreams,

He labours till the cold night

Only after passing an acerbic afternoon.

Though adroit in his art,

Never rejoices wishing himself luck,

He never asked for gold coins

He doesn’t need luxurious ride

But just expects the acceptance of his art,

A role to play,

In his admirer’s heart.

 

He doesn’t plead for fame,

abscond in the dark

So that his art is known,

His life gets a name,

Now he is a coal but a one burning

Lying in abysmal depths,

Waiting to be discovered,

Carved into diamond,

A one mesmerizing.

 

He dreams to spread his brightness

To all he meets at hand,

And he promises those days,

To be wild, big and grand

Such are his dreams,

Those are thoughts he has,

Neither a president nor a celebrity

But just an artist after all.

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