Art

The ones and zeros can’t capture all the essence,

They can’t describe condition of your heart:

This subtle, soft, majestic effervescence

Of fragile matter, yet to become a form of art –

To come alive, and breathe, and move the feelings

Of those who can live and be alive.

It’s frankly, difficult, among the human beings,

To find those who does more than just survive.

We’re buried in this dynamic clutter,

Too busy to step out of the scheme.

All the devices can’t help us being smarter,

Without turning into someone’s living memes.

An artist has to burn, destroying minds,

While painting real, not just prettiest of things.

We only have this life, so make it count,

The beauty’s found where the questioning begins.