The Untold Story - part 5
It was a Friday evening. A partial cloud cover over the sky and gentle breeze buzzing across the campus had made the surroundings pleasant. The timing was so awesome to plunge in to the depths of my creative attic and it was time to go get those dancing shoes on and get that guitar tuned that I had been neglecting all these days.
Mr Picasso picked up his canvases to his chest almost like he was hugging them. It was time for some fun. While I sing, he will paint or rather bleed his emotions on that white canvas that would soon lose its white, that would soon be all red. Yes, all red because I know he craves for her every single moment. So he will paint her and find her right in front of his eyes. He’s blessed I think. Yes, he is. Because he will then stare right into her eyes for as long as the night would approach.
While poets like me aren’t that blessed because I can only scribble words on a piece of paper that the breeze would take it away from me. A poet can only cry. He needs the warmth of a heart to succumb into. He tries to find the same in his memories but none he finds. So he just dreams. Because in his dreams, she loves him. She comforts him and she stands by him. He never has to change himself for her. It is only in his dreams that this is possible.
Finally, Mr Rancorous and Mr Picasso were all set and it was my favorite piece (courtesy poets of the fall) “The Carnival of Rust” gave the evening the start that we had wanted, the start we so very much needed. Yes, we are two very insecure guys. Two one sided lovers and all we enjoy together is sharing the little imperfections that we so much love about our loves.
To be continued....
- Mr Rancorous