An Artist’s Night
Something inside me burns furiously.
Does it reside in my heart or my soul, I wonder.
If it is in my heart, they tell me,
To let it devour my heart of all hope
For, that will help me seek the ultimate truth.
If it is in my soul, they tell me,
To let it burn my soul to the ashes
For that is the price of being an artist.
At night, during the full moon,
I weep.
My cries get lost in the silence of the night
And,
My tears dry out in the heat of the night's cold breeze
Is it fear, I wonder.
Why does this fear make no sense to me?
Why does this fear hold great power over me?
Why does this fear feel so strangely known?
Why do I have sleepless nights?
Pondering over these questions,
In darkness of the night,
I weep.
Give up, my heart says.
But my soul is determined to fight.
My heart is my friend
And,
My soul is my lover
Whom do I listen to?
Hope.
Hope streams down my eyes,
Breaking the unknown shackles,
Giving my heart and soul relief,
And,
As the dawn appears,
Hope glistens in the rays of our creator,
Soothing my soul off fear,
Revealing the universal truth,
Giving me the ultimate salvation,
Hope gives up to the creator of this world,
And,
Turns an atheist into a believer.
~Rishikesh Pande (RP)