Artwork of Living

By Pritish Gupta

Careful little fairy, the jar is heavy, regrets so many

Say little dame, I saw many angels in my garden

The love in their luster, magic in their form

Soul in their smile, majestic their eyes

I mere human asked for little things one too many

The heart as prestine of conditon as it looks

The inside glow golden, redone each crack

Word by word, touch in touch, as the fingers crossed

She who struggled to like even a flower, brought me bouquets of it, one too many

I wrote of many dates, a letter to remember day by, not let the sense of hold pass by

Hundreds of love in there, little fairy carry the jar with no haste

Halt by the sea, on the beach, celebrate a little evening 

Sunsets down their are often radiant, shrouded in mystery, over the horizon how far

My madame was no slouch of hand,

Skills aquired in colors forged everyday

She could paint soul to life, did bring mine back to me

World looked so sufferable yet never a day I couldn't smile about her

The sense of life worth its meaning came about in her artwork I stole

From her art gallery that night it was to be auctioned

She knew, the painting carried her heart

Just like you carry mine. 

The little signature hidden under the trees like a treasure

None saw, till the keen eyes got to it, bid all 

the money even the world didn't own

I made a run for it, hid, covered, owned

Never really owned so much stole from the eyes of the world

An artist of tommorow's promise, eloped with a lover like me

Writing on the sail over the pacific, the full moon shed light on a single tear on her face

I knew it was not in our shared destiny

Yet the shimmer of tear, all soft of love she was to receive 

In hopes,  it to be me, all the paint, all the canvas

All the scenery, I stole it all, too little to care for the market where they were never used

She kept covering the walls, the rooms, the little cabin by this beach

She painted last sunset I ever did 

experience 

Last of smile, last of vows, last of happy day of marriage

Before days of heavenly sorrows

Much love in lord's blessings they say,

Her painting that I stole got stolen from me

That day the cracks on the heart start to form

She had made dinner, my favorite rice with curd on the side

A little lace to hold it together, 

I was no small crook, knew how to steal treasure of humanity 

None steal and get away from me

But life went on

She started selling her paintings

The shopkeepers found us, came back for the money

Took her artwork made all the billions she never earned a dime of

Day by day, the art so real, seemed the emotions on paper of true pain

I had cry in night looking at them, know not what she felt painting them

The hurt consumed her of what I did little to know

Couldn't ask, for days she would not show me her face

I ask and ask, bring her all the love of flowers she brought

But the colors of those flowers had faded from her eyes

Lost they were by the bay, as the final painting that one night carried my signature and her lines, a letter to date held under the angels light

She walked to the full moon into the water

Bout of depression so ruesome, people talk even today of how I killed her

The shopkeepers came to ask more, 

Saw her body burried in the ever shifting sand

Knowing how hollow the burial place still is

I sold all the artoworks to kids, schools anywhere the love blossoms keen

My letters in that jar became truth of life

They felt my pain yet took it for my guilt

That my ways made her mad of love

A love so eager it engulfed poor soul meant to share a vision of future

God's oracle, 

My heart shattered. You can drop the jar now little fairy, 

Little dame of heaven's court, your angels came by the garden tonight of my villa earned of my own depression of all the love lost

The painting that put this miserable love in 

history I found, 

That's when the angels danced, I saw her figure yet none compared to her beauty

You can not fool me. 

Never wanted to gift her to us, did you oh mighty

All your blessings, all my prayers only for her to be divinity not to be prayed to

I saw that painting and I smile, 

God erase you can the memories of us

The jar bury it in the empty pit of sand where they remember her soul

The gold in my heart glows no longer

The carvings of her touch, my words are gone

The painting, her signature now is carried on me

The artwork she left behind that no one 

owns

No keeper, no buyer, no collector, not even your holiness, 

Its my fair trial little dame, give what judgement you must

The possession of me belongs to her

In sadness, in happiness, in mortality, in her infinity 

The artwork of life belongs to her

By Pritish Gupta