Member Poem

An abandoned white cat was sleeping in an ancient museum.
I couldn’t guess it is dream or true??
There rivers and mountains were twinkling across my drawings like magical rings.
I feel lucky when miracles like these happen in my room.

White colored rose is looking to drop dews.
When I was saving the dropped dews in my brushes there lightning strucked crossly.
When flipping dad’s diary to find lightning’s idea is smile or angry,
the paintings of Hitler- Mussolini made me to feel I’m lucky.

The piano player which I bought one day is recording the hearts’
great loving poetries which dropped lonely in my paintings.
In the search of my life, for the question “Who am I?”
I found out that I am a lucky artist who make boats and
swim in the rainbow colored sea waves.

Kashmir toys dropped by little angel, Myanmar pigeons,
African roses, are surrendering in my pollen lines.
Without pain through the four side lines across
the drawing drawn with peacock feather bullets travelling like heavy rain,
my tears looking at me and says that I’m unlucky while the toys dying as flood.

The life of milliard people across the weaver bird’s nest is singing threnody,
in the earth where Nile river fish travelling to Niagara without visa.
The dosa in the plate of refugees looks like a moon is lucky than my drawings.

When I thought to drop the imagination,
I saved Columbus’s smile in the grave garden abandoned among the black and white scene.

The birds flying in my drawing and you the people who make fun of me are very lucky,
you all won the mega price stealing my lottery.

“Lock up the desert people in the prison who come from the mango shaped island,
stealing my painting to steal Kangaroo country’s Logo.”

In the rectangular box, my drawing holding the earth have more than two hundred breasts.
Each and every life who were born, lived and passes away in the earth having milk in my breast and
next second they sleep listening my lullaby in my inside. They are lucky.

The moon in the space walls, writing love stories daily.

My drawing is economizing the human like small sparrow nest.
The hungry in the river is printing dollars cross ward and up wards.
People who are living in the drawing which I drawn are selling the imagined tweaks for millions of dollars.
But, my drawings are price fixed by God.

Believe my drawing which is drawn by the heart beat line as a “World Map” until it is crucified like Jesus in the wall of museum.

At the beginning of the abandoned civilization of the twenty- first century on my portrait face,
that was young for centuries hairs are sprouting.
In the fancy, beauty salon, for my white hair if black dye is not there when thinking to polish,
God is laughing jokingly looking at me whom drawn the map of the world.

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Note :- Recently, Poem that won INR 5000 (Approximate 66.60$) in a competition.