What Is Art?

By Immane A Shiphrah

What is art

If not a mosaic of broken parts.

A deadly scream of an aching heart

Which is at the verge of falling apart.

I tried being happy, but it didn’t work out.

So I wrote what I felt, I screamed them out loud.

I stain the parchments with ink as my pen dances over it

I stain my story on history’s sheet with blood as a blade dances over my chest.

A loud squeal of anguish does the sound of laughter conceal

The dripping tears running rivers, hide behind a façade unreal.

I cried too much that day,

That a part of my heart melted through my eyes and flowed down my cheek.

I know I should’ve prayed

But I’m running out of prayers and have brutally bruised my knees.

My hands shake, my palms sweat.

I grow more weary with every step.

My eyes filled with wine, my lungs grew flowers,

But that’s not where you pour wine or plant your flowers.

My eyes blurred and I couldn’t take a breath

I cried tears of wine like blood down my face

Suffocation felt miserable, but looked like grace.

I know I should paint my life with vivid shades

But here is a splash of red, black and grey.

She sounds demonic ... That’s what most people say...

Well I’m trying to explain what’s inside my head.

I’m not a saint... Doesn’t mean I am a sinner.

I trying... But it just doesn’t work for me as it does for you...

I wish I could break my skull in half

So you can get a glimpse of what is inside.

I try to pen it down, but mere words don’t suffice.

By Immane A Shiphrah