Words of Clay – “Gardener of Beauty”

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From His prison of aesthetics, can you grant me liberty?

From that hypnotic trance of His artistry, can you set me free?

Will I ever be able to alter my duty?

For at the celestial factory,

He sculpted me himself for sheer exclusivity,

To serve my years in flesh till the dusk of eternity,

As a zealous Gardener of Beauty…

Deb’013

Artist : Gauri Sakhuja

Words of Clay” is a poetic journey through the creations of Gauri Sakhuja, a young and talented Indian sculptor from her latest solo exhibition at Triveni Kala Sangam, New Delhi, India.

The journey ends with this post…

Thank You! readers for all your appreciation, inspiration and support. 

 

 

For more on the artist, visit : https://www.facebook.com/gauri.sakhuja/about

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Words of Clay – ” Living Blue, Living True”

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Vulnerable, much envied resides the Buddha within,

Inner peace is no more free, a price seeps in,

Yet the blue man continues to live it true,

Crouching under his marble umbrella Trojan,

His need for protection pinches him human,

Humbles him his mortality to respect Nature’s curfew,

Not a stain of compromise could taint his virtues,

Confident in a smile! The toughest of climes pass away, too…

Deb’013

Artist : Gauri Sakhuja

Words of Clay” is a poetic journey through the creations of Gauri Sakhuja, a young and talented Indian sculptor from her latest solo exhibition at Triveni Kala Sangam, New Delhi, India.

 

For more on the artist, visit : https://www.facebook.com/gauri.sakhuja/info

Lend them your Senses…

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O Maestros, Masters of trade,

Royal bards presented factories of bread,

Fingers that pluck strings of gold,

Pen down verses that never grey,

Never grow old,

Lend your ears to the flower,

Step into gardens, fresh,

Away from limelight, the yellow haze,

You might discover green grief,

Hear petals mourn,

Butterflies scream,

Kneeling down stamens weep,

Moaning summons of concealed ovaries,

Lend your eyes to the flower,

You might find pistils trying to watchtower,

Stigmas acting scented radars,

Sepals craving an embrace,

Waiting for a role in your songs,

Waiting to step out off mortal boundaries,

Into your verses perennial,

O Maestros, Masters of trade,

Dig some time for their songs,

If, not mine…

 

Let my songs wither away,

Ring unheard till my last breath,

Let me croak out my years,

Like the forgotten toad,

Unsee me,

Miss out on my colors, my unique existence…

 

Step into wilder lawns,

Rest your bare soles on undisciplined grass,

Beautify young, new pastures,

They join flowers in lament,

To weave Utopian wails for you,

Hoping, Longing,

Someday, they reach you…

 

Widen your stare,

Reach out to nooks and corners, once in a while,

To the unlit gardens,

Waiting to gift you a smile,

Taste unscathed honey,

Plummet in virgin talent,

O Maestros, Masters of trade,

Lend them your senses,

To their unattended mystery,

Dig some time for their songs,

If, not mine, before you sediment away into history…

 

(A poet, wandering lonely at the talent fuming, Jaipur Literature Festival, 2013)

 

Debaroon’2013

 

(Image from : http://thakurrajesh.hubpages.com )