“How do you feel?”
“Like a blue, blue sky and a train passing by.”
“Are you on the train?”
“I’m the sunset. I painted the sky. He left so I painted it with melancholy.”
The doctor raced her pencil on the notepad,
“Exhibiting symptoms of schizophrenia: disorganised speech, delusion of grandeur…”
She stopped mid-sentence. What is poetry a symptom of?
Main graphic credit: Siddhartha Sankar (mixed media artwork created with acrylic and pastel colours on chart paper and computer graphic software)
The poem is just not Poem, it’s just not a poetry, but, at least what I feel, an introspection for us, look back to down the memory lane, to identify our feelings, and to acknowledge, does not matters what others are thinking….unless we will lost, lots of beautiful and wonderful hearts. The poem and the picture has matched appropriately. My best wishes to Suchetana & Siddhatha.