An artist is a marvelous creature, highly misunderstood and misjudged for all his vision and art. Art, as you know, is not always something beautiful. It is a truth, disregarded on purpose, hence sour to our senses and the artist is a madman, a heretic for he dares! he dares to show us what we […]Read More ARTIST
Strange how people change, how their value in your life changes, how they mean the world to you a moment and at the other, they don’t fit at all. Strange how you see a person through different lenses, how their colors shift with each shift of a lense, how they go from being loved to […]Read More Strange
So what did they tell you about me? the other day you saw me walking down the road Didn’t they tell you that I carried a sickness with me; whoever looked at me wanted to touch me. No mortal could escape my curse, That if your hands advanced towards me, it was I who must […]Read More What did they tell you about me?
I’ve been stumbling across children books reviews lately. Surprisingly, they’ve held my attention, the stories and the pictures both. To think of the Children’s books I can’t help but think of the first book I owned, Jubal’s Wish by Audrey Wood. It was special because it was the first time that I spent my pocket […]Read More My first book
It isn’t always pets, places too are abandoned, Where once people used to flock up and the sounds of laughter and chatter used to drown your voice, you’d now find impenetrable silence. Broken only by the strayed wisp of wind or a lonely bird’s chirp, a sound that seems to have travelled from another world. […]Read More Abandoned
She loved too much or she didn’t love at all, Had you been following her you’d have seen that she left a piece of herself wherever she went, She mingled too much or she didn’t mingle at all, Had you ever had the chance of meeting her you’d have noticed that she approached people with […]Read More She loved too much or she didn’t love at all,
Paints, brushes, papers, the canvas I had them all, I had them stacked, I had them stored, I had them ignored and forgotten. A crazy idea flows and flutters and sits over my head, I decide to paint, to paint a portrait of myself. I stand, the canvas and me, face to face staring at […]Read More The Painted Painter: