Poet Lady Katz: new forum reply to Blink by Aayudh Pramanik

New reply from Susan Katz

<p>Thank you so very much for sharing this powerful and beautifully written (some great images) poem for consideration for Featured Poem of the Month for June.  You have captured, not only a mood, but a message and I am truly touched by your words.  Thank you again for sharing, Susan</p>


Original Post by aayudh

Blink by Aayudh Pramanik

<p>It's honestly unfair, to let the scholars</p>
<p>With all their ranks and distinctions and degrees,</p>
<p>Reserve their,</p>
<p>Platinum thrones,</p>
<p>Wield the right to weave and set fire,</p>
<p>To art.</p>
<p>I met a girl who had lost all her life, </p>
<p>Poured all of her into</p>
<p>Glasses full of holes.</p>
<p>And she was an artist.</p>
<p>She used to paint in mud with streamlined </p>
<p>Kanji Brush strokes, </p>
<p>Carve out cryptic genius </p>
<p>Through discarded, spat on oak,</p>
<p>Her lead lined eyeballs, </p>
<p>The most guttural dissimulations</p>
<p>They made my creativity quiver and tremble,</p>
<p>Shatter records and surpass boundaries, they all assembled,</p>
<p>On summer nights and the winter dawn lights</p>
<p>My feet dipped in the cold moist grass.</p>
<p>So many of them had turned a deplorable amber,</p>
<p>Encased in hickory brown borders. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her rapidly flaking skin, </p>
<p>Burnt in napalm hues </p>
<p>Of anarchy and subservience simultaneously</p>
<p>What a miracle it was</p>
<p>Watching her dismantle herself </p>
<p>Into infinity all at once</p>
<p>And yet accept incapacitation in a mere vessel</p>
<p>Of blood bones and flesh.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She was an artist</p>
<p>And her art was never certified</p>
<p>And yet the only difference</p>
<p>Between her art and those accepted</p>
<p>Was that, her art explained you</p>
<p>And you explained the others,</p>
<p>And your explaination of the others</p>
<p>Were never yours, but consensus.</p>
<p>Consensus of limited</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She brought dead butterflies back to life</p>
<p>With her chameleon water colours</p>
<p>And her fingers were the closest something</p>
<p>Would ever get to perfect.</p>
<p>I often asked her to unscrew jars,</p>
<p>Just to stare at the galaxies of brilliance in them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her voice sprouted life,</p>
<p>And was what kept the grasses alive</p>
<p>From the shadow cast over them by,</p>
<p>A very capitalist concept of success. </p>
<p>Her voice was what kept the clocks ticking in our realities,</p>
<p>They commanded everything that knew what to look up to.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But like I said, she wasted all her life</p>
<p>Poured all her colours into a plastic monochrome</p>
<p>Expectation of art.</p>
<p>You can reduce a spectrum to black and white, </p>
<p>But there's no going back from there.</p>
<p>Once the colours are lost, sacrificed, they're gone for good.</p>
<p>She lives on in moth eaten, yellowed books</p>
<p>And in the airspace between two teeth flanking a missing one in between.</p>
<p>She lives on in crooked smiles </p>
<p>And painters and poets and singers and </p>
<p>Innovation, inchoate. </p>
<p>She lives on in the locket locking us,</p>
<p>Into the future and branding us into the past.</p>
<p>She was an artist.</p>
<p>She healed the dying one in me,</p>
<p>She was an artist.</p>