You painted this studio a radiant scarlet –
a luminous sunset
spreading joy with increasing abandonment.
The glass is empty, not your plate.
Absorbed in your creations I wait,
thinking you will walk in any moment,
start sharing stories of paintings on paintings,
remind me that creativity takes courage.
Uncovering the blue and yellow beneath the red,
I note the walls were white,
you changed the colours until they felt right.
Your signature is everywhere,
the way you fit things to make a whole.
While working you never try to think, only feel
and connect – woman and man, earth and sky,
tree like a human body, human body like a cathedral,
studio like a private universe. Art the only thing
that matters once it stops hurting.
The green blue light of the window
intensifies the interior where memory
is suspended like the grandfather clock
whose face has no hands –
the fathomless mirror reflects no illusions.
An open box of crayons offer paradise
contained in this world within worlds of yours,
teaching me how to lose and find myself in art.
This poem first appeared in Shanta Acharya's book, Imagine: New and Selected Poems (Harper Collins India).
Shanta Acharya is the author of eleven books, her publications range from poetry, literary criticism and fiction to finance. Her poems have appeared in major journals and anthologies. Her latest, Imagine: New and Selected Poems, is published by HarperCollins India, 2017). www.shantaacharya.com
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