An old timer
I have paints
In my hands,
I have my canvas
Torn and messy,
I could still spill
My colors
Or curse, my emptiness.
I feel more
Than my heart can take,
It is idealized
In music of inner sensibilities.
I measure an equal ounce
Of your world,
My tears are lonely
That can tear my canvas
And soak it like a musical madness
Of spilled colors.
I am an old timer
With a childish soul,
To keep my art
And execute it,
With divine spilling
Of touched senses.
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© Sushant Thapa
Picture Nick Victor
Biratnagar-13, Nepal
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