Sunday, April 21, 2019

when summer's gone

I feel like I have stopped creating.

my summer's long gone, making me only sense the wrap of harsh winter.
it's no longer bright outside no matter how far the clouds travel to reveal the sun.

the number of drafts on my blog keeps on increasing.
my sketchbooks are empty and canvases look as fresh as the day I bought them.
paint brushes in the pencil holders still have stains from the last painting I attempted to work on.
my hands still shake when I hold my camera to film what I've planned all along.
and I don't sing my favourite songs anymore.

it's not like I've stopped being myself.
I still wake up late in the morning, take long showers, and go on to spend my day.
but my days aren't the same anymore.

sometimes I don't understand what I want to do.
most of the times, I'm scared thinking summer's gone forever.
he might never return back and I'll live in this world of whites I once thought was my favourite.

the flowers in my garden have long dried.
the vase in my desk shattered while opening the curtains to expose the sun.

I no longer paint my nails when I'm alone.
the colours in my life are slowly starting to fade and become as dry as the cold.
I'm about to blend in with the season's stroke each day.
and I don't feel like doing anything about it.

the wind is my only friend that delivers my envelopes to him.
although it never returns with something for me,
that's alright.

the only hope I have is on the Earth.
for its rotation made summer part his ways.
and it's the only one that can reunite us again.

but when summer's around, we go on long walks in the fields
where the flowers are happily fed with light,
and the birds are ready for me to take their portraits.

that's when my blog is happy for having more posts to wear,
my brushes get wet with paint and the sketchbook is filled with images of worlds that don't exist.
the camera has more memories than my mind can recall and summer sings along my songs.

when summer, you're here, the world is magical.
my open scars start drying and even the wind lets me whisper to your ears,
you are an art.

and you blush orange like the last time you said you'll miss me,
just before the sky turned gloomy and poured a heavy rainfall right above me,
it destroyed the colours and chased birds from our field,
and I have been waiting for you with just sad letters as a shield,
to come and let me walk with you, again, as I heal.

original pictures by my sister, Tapaswi.


  1. This comment has been removed by the author.

    1. In the end, one thing remains
      Who are you
      without what you do?

      It's okay
      to be nobody
      and no one.
      A life only of family
      and friends
      and happiness.

      Makes you someone, forever.
      Art is immortality.
      Let it come out of you.

      It may smell,
      be rotten
      may disappoint you
      or embarrass you, humiliate even
      but come out, it must.
      For when the creation stops
      the artist dies.

      It's okay
      to be
      just a person.
      Creating art
      is funner.

      Keep. Writing. Keep drawing. Keep doodling.
      Create, maaan, CREATEEE!
      Any shit is better than no shit.

    2. Yup, that's what I'm trying to do now. Be more of myself than I ever was. (: