I, the grotesque human, have some exception
When I am wide awake thinking of prodigies
I posses. But, at least I do not exquisitely
Fall into the category of an artist. I am mostly
A story teller; of my kind. I am forgotten but
I do not forget how one ignores what's there
On the table. As a human, I take great leap
In believing humans could do better. Yet, what is
Better to you might be unfair to me. Hence, the
Philosophy behind emotion is vague. It is so
Simple and crystal clear that a humam has to
Not know to undo. When we are awakened by
Our own connections we roam here and there
For the search of an answer, desperately trying to
Grasp of any comprehension. It can be a midnight
Of struggling thoughts. It can be that warmth within
A blanket on a wintery night. It can also be a lonely
Long road. The darkness that a time possess are
Nothing but are something devoid of ample illumination.
And there we are wondered, why we love so much
That is unseen. We love because it intrigues us
To a thirsty ride. We love those who makes us
Weaker. As an avid learner of the concept of art
And artists, I , the grotesque human, always
Found out that an art has the ability to melt us.
Yet, we all are focusing only on the process of art
And not real art itself. May be, the journey of
Self discovery to self proclaimed art is a myth.
Or may be, we all are just a pawn to witness art
In our own style. Be it whatever, our emotions are marvellous.