I had a daughter once, her name was Hope. Oh, you should've seen how my heart leaped in joy when I held her in my arms. Every fiber in me was dedicated to making her safe and showering her with all the love I could give. I cradled her in my arms. Oh, you should've seen how her tiny fingers were my reason to live. She was my love. My own. I spent nights stroking her hair and showing her off to the moon as its competitor. I held her close to me always. Blocking and pushing away the things that might prick her baby skin. Oh, I wish I could buy love in the supermarket, buy it for her and gift wrap it with care and dreams and give every stock they have, to my precious. And I would happily spend years paying it off with nothing but her happiness in return. Oh, i dreamt I held my baby Hope, in my hands singing to her on rainy nights till my coffee got cold and I dozed off, my baby Hope sound asleep in my arms. But one day I had a horrific dream, I dreamt that my hope was gone. I sea...
Your words were a permanent impression in my mind. Even though my fingers smudge the ends of every word written with fresh ink all over me, in attempts to touch it - a fool's attempt to think that those words were as tangible as you. But yet the smudged letters were readable. Soon enough the words felt more tangible in fact it was the only tangible thing as the writer ceased to exist, leaving only shattered dust and scrap in my memory. But the words remain. Smudged and faded yet the words remain. And now I am in search of a new writer whose application would fill this empty seat and remain there to write the same poem on my mind over and over again. Written : Dec 20, 2016
Art, simply put, is about subtly breaking barriers that only come with a depth of understanding and perception. While exploring the world of art through history, we can understand the plethora and range that it constitutes. Initially, the concept of art was limited to replicating nature, but it has gradually evolved to understanding the dynamics of human culture, relationships, emotions, and communities. Art has increasingly been used as a way of communicating thoughts and concepts. With each era throughout the history of humankind, the idea of art is in constant flux. Yet, the necessity to express ourselves remains unchanged. It is, in fact, in our DNA to articulate and share our innermost stories and perspective through our eyes. Art can be comprehended as blatantly raw and symbolic to a particular instance in time or a notion of elusiveness. A narrative is compelled by the layers and gravitas a work of art retained regardless of its origin, genre, or form. A painti...
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