the art in me

there is something that moves me

i don't  have words to describe

it's not an emotion, or a rhythmic change

my hands don't get clammy, and i don't feel faint

there is a rush of urgency 

i must create the art in me

i use to think you could lose it

it would make me grieve and search for it

my artificial attempts were in vain

the hunger and wide-eyed lust subsided 

it seemed absent from within me

i cannot create the art in me

it did not get an invitation

my life was packed with expectations

deadlines and agendas cascaded my time

suddenly i halted in exhaustion 

sleepless stirrings filled with late hour wonder

new longings for soul oxygen

questions that only i could answer

is that yearning the art in me

suddenly without notice i was searching

i responded to the emergency call 

urgently seeking to find resolve

my hands shaking and legs collapsing

tears filled with doubtful request

pleading, begging, wining like a spoiled child

give me the art in me

silence for days haunted my nights

burdened rocks weighed heavy on my soul

gone, nothing, no answer

wishful thinking confirmed

interrupted melancholy grumblings
a sweet sound of familiar voices

"dad, can you help me paint?"

discovering the art in them

the art in me