Art speaks for me silently
doesn’t speak my name but
whispers the inevitability of my existence
Like a foolish graffiti artist
you drew my life invisibly,
and tore apart your sheets
over and over again.
Till I could fully resurrect into hopeless forms
and sing the rhyme of justice
Till I could die and find a suitable
rubble of ash to mix with.
So that you could make merry with yourself
and proudly wear a grin
Primed, pietistic, ignorant.
I mutely survive your barrage
till I could become a artist myself
through linguistic flaws, emotive superiority
….To be continued