Am, no artist, but am forced to paint a picture
one that should reflect my stature
I force myself to paint one and am not surprised at what turns up
A blurry, hazy image of scaffolds and hollow peoples' contours is my big coup!
A tiny blotch would suffice
to bring forth an area of pertinence
a meaningless blotch of color, spilt from a stranger's palette
or better still, for a smudge due to my loner tears, I may ferret
No one knows you, you included. And no one wants to know about you,everyone included. We are scared of strangers and so preconceive certain things about them. Also, people look at you as the picture you paint of yourself. It is not just a mask anymore. It is a whole scene painted out threatening to show the world, what you hide inside. Things have changed these days. Wonderful artists have come up who can depict angelic scenarios on their rough canvases but evil might still lurk under their hoods. Am no artist and I have no idea how my life looks like. But burdened with expectations I set out to paint a bleak one. I then realize it is not merely my inability to paint, it is my inability to even conjure up an image of myself. Like a lost soul desperately trying to find a foothold, I draw scribble and scratch and quibble. Awaiting some color, some faces and some places to associate with me.
