The Bread and Tea of a Painter …

The brittle lines they seem to run.

For brittle they may be.. but are the very source of a beautiful moment.

They run to be all that they can.

They run to take their physical form.

They run. They run. For reality doesn’t pose..

And doesn’t have to.. for its movement defines its life.

They run. They run. For there is never enough time.

They run. They run. Because their life depends on it.

By J. Dhakshini
Chennai, India.

Sittam Param

Writer, poet, dramatist and former journalist. I have passion for art in all its forms hence my involvement in this portal.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *