They say,

if I didn’t fall,

everytime I rise

I won’t be the greatest of all.

 

Is it me who doesn’t rise or doesn’t fall?

Why am I like the one in the mirror?

Why is the one there freaks out in terror?

For me, telling to the one there,” it’s okay”

is not okay.

 

Why can’t I be, who is in my eyes,

never spills his rainbow of colours?

Big eyes I have, they say,

still, in sadness, I lay,

rivers of tears giving way;

my heart wrecks, my heart breaks.

Shape like crockery fallen takes

my eyes swimming in big lakes

for the pain it takes-

 

Will I be the better of me

Or the mirror of ‘a better me’?

They drown me, then flee

They only say that 

There is nothing I can do-

 

All of my mind is falling apart.

Colourful butterflies depart.

That’s when I fall,

that’s when I sit down to write.

 

(It’s where I tell my story,

that listens to all that I worry)

 

I refuse to care who hears,

whether the topic trends or not.

 

The fact that I’m only aware 

is of the paper 

where the stream of my emotions flow

and my pen, my sword.

Here, a gaping wound is each and every word,

the deathbed of negative feelings

is the same paper I’ve written on.

 

My world falls apart.

Colourful butterflies depart.

That’s when I fall

and I sit down to write,

I write about my fall.

That is my art, my greatest of all;

that’s the greatest art, the greatest of all.

 

(That’s why when I’m insecure, I write.

It’s a beautiful feeling;

more than the words can express.

That is my peace, my art, dark time’s deathbed

that’s the art, the greatest of all.

It’s not me that’s the greatest, it’s my art.

That is the greatest of all.)

Author’s Profile: Sagnik Dey is a passionate, ardent lover of classical music and contemporary art. Currently studying in Salt Lake School, Kolkata; he’s the one who observes and paints a mural on life, what he feels it to be.