Wednesday, 16 October 2013


Each passing second of a prosaic life
Showered me with scorns for not stopping by
At abodes where dreams flew like feathers.

I'm an eternal traveler now, through orbits of
Dreams, on top of balloons made out of canvas
Stitched tight with threads of noxious hope.

An artist was born amidst, he pricked the balloons
With a pin, taking out the strands of hope,
And sinking my life on seas of random celebrations.

Prompted by Kim Nelson on Verse First at Poets United . The noun artist ended up with celebrations.


  1. Yikes! What travels this artist and his baby have! Can't wait to see the exhibit after the opening celebrations, and hope above hope that it is not a wake.

  2. wow the canvas stitched together with noxious hope....vivid description....
    a life of random celebrations would def be fun too...smiles.

  3. LOVE "where dreams flew like feathers" and "threads of noxious hope". This is brilliant, the canvas balloons add a really cool note.

  4. Thanks people. Loved your comments. :)

  5. I really like thinking about being an eternal traveler. That would be quite a journey indeed. Nicely composed, Anand.

  6. Nice & vivid... I especially like the middle stanza.

  7. dreams like feathers . . . noxious hopes, artists and balloons made out of canvas. What a visually descriptive treat.

  8. Traveling on the top of balloon! ~ breath taking journey...but, when pricked find yourself in 'seas of random celebrations' - it's LIFE! Wonderful imagery!

  9. That was a breath taking flight....beautiful canvas! So well written, Anand!

  10. beautiful! To say we both took an Artist as a noun and your take here is simply breathtaking! a surreal flight of noxious hopes! :)

  11. I AM an artist and a writer, so this three-line-per, three-stanza piece resonates deeply with me. I have felt the sensations you describe. I LOVE IT!