Dawn knocks at the door of my grave,
and I see sunbeam penetrate my skin and bring back the soul of a dead artiste inside me to life,
and I crawl back to be for another day, only to deliver art again,
I breathe in pain,
and I exhale art.
With a paintbrush of my plucked-out nerves, I painted the misery on the canvas of my skin with the colours of my blood,
the ink of my veins summons the cold blood of the universe and turns it cordial by Its warmth.
And as I hear the footsteps of dusk approaching,
I dig a grave whIle dancing on my feets
and bury me there with an unheard melody,
and from my grave, moonlight emerges illuminating the world after my demise,
but you see,
my addiction to art never let me die,
after my death, my art makes me more alive.
And perhaps dawn shall come again looking for me tomorrow, to lend me another day to bury myself in art.
-Tamanna
