Ocean Blues - By Mohommad Ihthasham

Written By: Mohommad Ihthasham

Category: Short story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

Mohommad Ihthasham presents "Ocean Blues," a captivating short story contribution to the esteemed Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 hosted by Hashtag Kalakar. This narrative delves into the poignant exploration of artistic expression and emotional introspection. Through the story, Ihthasham invites readers to traverse the complex landscape of creativity and personal relationships, all wrapped in a vivid tapestry of color and emotion.

About the Work

"Ocean Blues" is an evocative narrative that explores the emotional highs and lows of an artist's journey. The story is imbued with vivid imagery, using colors as metaphors for feelings and experiences. Themes of chaos, love, and loss are interwoven, capturing the essence of artistic struggle and personal discovery. The mood shifts from hopeful to somber, ultimately reflecting the unpredictable nature of both art and life.

Ocean Blues

Original Submission by Mohommad Ihthasham

Ocean blues

I stared at a blank canvas, too white, too perfect. It stared at me expecting something grand, something international. But I was no painter. I am just a nobody with a brush and far too many feelings. So, I begin.

Blue came first, because it felt safe but my hand slipped and there is a great streak of sky all over the canvas. Uneven and impatient. I attempted to correct it, rubbing at it with my fingers but the paint resists. Fine let it be. Red. Something bold, something alive. I pulled it across the middle. It flows over into the blue, creating a knotted purple that I hadn't planned. It looks like a fluke. Or maybe it is. Yellow, a color of anticipation. I splattered it onto the canvas, small spots of light shattering like stars, dropping wherever they wanted. I breathed a little easy. Green sneaks up, unintentionally. Blending where the yellow and blue met. I dragged my fingers over it, smudging it like the blades of grass in the wind. It looks random, but isn’t that nature in its perfect state? A beautiful accident.

I stepped back. It is uneven. Some parts are thick with paint, heavy almost suffocating. Others are thin and bare. It looks unplanned but it looks like me. Messy chaotic, uncertain but full of colour.

I dropped the brush. Wiped my hands on my petal embroidered jeans and took a deep sigh. With a lost mind I woke up from my armchair overlooking emeralds whispering through the olives of Paris. I made myself to the kitchen counter. Greeted by MJ’s new album blasting on the radio while I made my morning coffee. Added a shot of espresso. Pulled out a cigarette from my back pocket. Lighted it. Sucked onto black mother’s teets and puffed out my problems away.

I huddled myself infront of the tele. Played an old tape of grandpa. The screen went blank. Picasso. There he was with his white tank top smothered with paint. His polished boots and his curly hair, draping down his grim face. It was him and his painting. Each stroke was concrete. The confidence. Unmatched. I laid there watching, trying, hoping to collect his magic.

Tossed the painting onto the dark, deep depths of my closet filled with unlabeled paintings. I went on with my day. I greased back my hair, puffed my collars and composed myself into my trench coat. Locked the door behind me and wandered off to the neighboring park.

Made myself comfortable on a lonely bench. Beamed onto the sky, stroked in gold, saw ember and honey melt onto the blue. Let them collide, a riot, a love-struck embrace, weaving new worlds.

I took out my nimble sketchbook, plastered with inspiration. Unfinished projects. Took out my blunt pencil and let my mind hang loose. Scratch. I turned the page and started over. Scratch. I turned the page and I started over. I looked to the lord. No hope.

“Monsieur, is this seat taken?” asked a timid voice. I looked up and saw a woman, wearing a black dress which kissed her glistening thigh. Her scarf wrapped around her almond face. “No madame”, I answered. I made room for her and sat in silence. She noticed my sketchbook and asked, “Are you an artist?” I gave her a shakey nod. “Can I have a look?” she asked with a stern voice. I clutched onto it and refused. “Can I have a look?” she asked, but this time it was calmer and welcoming. Hypnotized, I gave her.

“An artist indeed” she applauded as she traced her fingers along the pencil lines. “Samantha”, she said. “Poppy”, I neighed as I looked deep into her blue shards.

The next thing you know the crescent moon was taking its leap. We have been sucked into a world of art, poetry and adventure. “Look at the time” she scoffed. We said our goodbyes and drew apart.

I was drugged; I was intoxicated by her gaze.

The next day, I quickly gelled my untamed hair, polished my shoes and ran. Ran towards the park praying she would be there. I ran. Then I jogged. Then I walked, thinking how stupidly I was acting. I sat on the bench alone, lit another cigarette and waited. With no warning I heard “A pleasure to meet you Monsieur Poppy.” There she was with her bright smile dressed by red wine lipstick.

The night was young. The streetlights started to turn on. We spent the whole day talking.

Day 12

I showed her more of my art and she showed me pictures of old fossil which she had discovered when she was dwelling in the core of the Earth. “A brave archeologist you are” I howled.

Day 18

I kissed her under the Eiffel tower.

Day 20

Began with a canvas of the purest white, untainted. With each stroke summon the vision of a woman who is not bound by the rigors of mere perfection but forged from the essence of grace and fire. Colored my brush with the rosy kissed hues of rose and coral, tracing the soft curve of her lip. Let them be steeped in the stories of a thousand silent dreams. Fierce and tender strokes chisel the shape of her brows with the ink of dusk, planting eyes that do not merely see but unveil, undress the soul. Her skin, a masterpiece in blended dawns, honey-colored sunrises and shafts of porcelain. Let light embrace her. Let shadows worship her. I let the breeze weave her locks. Soaked my brush in the depths of midnights. Let it tumble, let it rise, let it run untamed. The body. Oooh, the body. Formed not in symmetry but in harmony.

I stepped back. Behold her. Not perfect. No. something greater. Painted not with hands but with longing, with wonder.

Day 48….

I woke up to silence. The kind that feels unnatural, like the world had stopped just long enough for me to notice something was wrong. Her side of the bed was cold. There was a note on the nightstand. I stared at it for what felt like hours before I had the courage to pick it up. Her handwriting was careful, deliberate as if she knew this would be the last thing she would ever say to me.

“I’m sorry.”

That was the first line. The rest was just cruel in its simplicity. “I love you. I probably always will but sometimes love isn’t enough. I can’t stay here pretending that it is.”

I felt my chest collapse, suffocating me from the inside out. Nothing. She was gone. I ran to every nook and corner hoping that I would find her things. Maybe this was some awful dream.

She had taken everything…. except the memories. Those she left behind. Scattered through the apartment like ghosts I could never chase away. I sank to the floor. Lit a cigar and started to paint. Blue. Painted the whole canvas blue. Each stroke was a different shade of blue. I painted an empty wine glass longing for more.

I whispered, I cried, “drink to me, drink to my health, you know I can’t drink anymore.”

-Mohammed Ihthasham

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar is a distinguished platform celebrating the creativity of writers worldwide. This competition provides a unique opportunity for participants to showcase their literary talents, engaging with a global community of readers and writers. It stands as a testament to the power of words and the diversity of human expression.

We extend our heartfelt thanks to Mohommad Ihthasham for his contribution, "Ocean Blues," to the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. His narrative offers a profound exploration of art and emotion, resonating deeply with readers. We look forward to seeing more of Ihthasham's literary journey and wish him continued success.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.