The Artist Poem by Raghav Bal Mardhekar

Song's for the asking, music's dear,
Tattered notes in the discerning ear
Spill'd colours across the canvas spread
Undaunted the artist looks ahead.

Clumsy feeling stumbles across the page
Spidery lines are traced as if in rage
At mocking crowds that anticipate
His failure at the hands of a laughing Fate.

Anger spills from a slashing stroke of red
Anguish from the easel rears its head
In green, the world, his fancies capture
Dull moves the brush, in reluctant rapture.

Hollow songs by struggling fingers born
Orchestrated by a soul that's torn
'Twixt turning in Logic and Reason's dance
Or twirling in a graceful dream filled trance.

His eyes are open, he seems to gaze
Sightless, staring as in a daze
Hearing songs that alone he can hear
Strangers to the mortal ear.

And visions of elfin beauty spring
That to the canvas his brushes bring
Of golden sun, rustling trees and mirth
Frolicking clouds between sky and earth.

Once reluctant fingers dazzling play
Joy's songs to lighten a gloomy day
And those who watched a canvas bare
Now stop in wonder to turn and stare.

"There's magic in that artist's hand"
They say as wonderstruck they stand
Fame's halo rings a bowed head
His dread is gone and in its stead

Recognition sounds its clamourous gong
Shatter'd peace, and shattered song
Inspiration got lost along the way
Mediocrity now holds its sway.

He longs again for the mocking stare,
The time to stand and not to care
As running colours on the canvas spread
And he, unknown, just looks ahead.