By Sapna Kumari
A breathing art, poised amid
The weary gaze and radiant eyes.
This art, formless, shadeless, strokeless,
Yet holding countless traces in secret.
Traces of joy and ache, pain and pleasure,
Desire and repulsion, empathy and apathy.
The canvas placed itself in the viewer's hands,
To stroke the traces only they could see.
No two eyes saw the same,
Each shaped its own form and shade.
Some traced the walls of an unbreakable cage,
while some traced the shimmer of freedom.
Yet the mystic beauty lay in silence,
unseen by a thousand passing eyes.
The art and the artist endured the passing gazes,
Longing for the lens of divergence to fall away.
For the mystic beauty it holds at its core
is not in what is seen,
But in how it simply exists.