Of Walls Blue and Crumbling…

“I sit environed by walls blue and crumbling…
Yond a lone flower’s lilting, a small brook bumbling…”
Imageries both powerful, yet worlds apart…
Conveying who knows what, this is abstraction in art…

The connoisseur says – the bard’s world is torn,
And broken is his spirit as he sits in the ruins, forlorn…
But the shattered remains still cling on to light,
As he gazes upon the joyous flower, brook willing him to fight…

The nonchalant naïve, well need I say more?
He takes it at face value, nothing less, nothing more…
That the bard is just reposing in an old room,
And penning down what he sees – nothing more to exhume…

What if for once, the naivete proves right?
The bard, just relaxing – no sorrows and no fights?
Yes, the quintessential abstraction has no role to play,
Tired of talking in riddles, in plain words he writes and says?

Grew up on classics, where lines go layers deep,
Hours fly deciphering the mood, letting the emotions seep…
A question always came to mind, and still resounds…
This obsession with obscurity, where and what are its bounds?

Why does our soul crave for a profound meaning?
Why abstraction inspires toasts; simplicity, an ugly feeling?
For this habit results in many exercises in futility,
Reading into things, garnering sentiments far removed from reality…

I leave it to pauses, and deliberate silences to conceal,
For words are made not to shroud feelings, but to clarify and reveal…
Well aware of the poignant effects abstraction seems to possess,
I believe nothing is more poignant than a simple truth enunciated with finesse…

“I sit environed by walls blue and crumbling…
Yond a lone flower’s lilting, a small brook bumbling…
I catch a breather, while drinking in the sights…
And then rise and escape the walls blue and crumbling, into the night…”

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