Another empty frame stealthily creeps in. Unmistakably black against the white light. Before I can hastily grab and immortalize 'that' picture or 'some picture', it fades again, unmistakably white- against a black light this time.Tired and befuddled.The scent however lingers in the wake of all this mindless commotion.it happens all over again. and again. The same process repeated down to the minutest detail. Empty frames flit in and out.
I have stopped counting the number of failed attempts to immortalize 'my picture'. An opportunity lost is lost forever. Maybe it was never meant to be.My picture was forever flawed. i did not realize it before. Now that i know,does it change anything? Does all this empty commotion have a far greater significance that eludes my immature, impractical being.? Maybe it is time to jettison all that excess baggage which has been weighing down on my diminutive frame,for what seems like ages now.
or maybe I need to simply walk that extra mile, carrying that extra baggage till I reach that state of coherence when I can discard it all with with eloquent ease-and with one sweeping stroke of my paintbrush give the finishing touch to my picture which had always been in the process of formation. just that I with all my whining and ceaseless complaining never realized it.
I can frame 'my picture' then.
.
I have stopped counting the number of failed attempts to immortalize 'my picture'. An opportunity lost is lost forever. Maybe it was never meant to be.My picture was forever flawed. i did not realize it before. Now that i know,does it change anything? Does all this empty commotion have a far greater significance that eludes my immature, impractical being.? Maybe it is time to jettison all that excess baggage which has been weighing down on my diminutive frame,for what seems like ages now.
or maybe I need to simply walk that extra mile, carrying that extra baggage till I reach that state of coherence when I can discard it all with with eloquent ease-and with one sweeping stroke of my paintbrush give the finishing touch to my picture which had always been in the process of formation. just that I with all my whining and ceaseless complaining never realized it.
I can frame 'my picture' then.
.
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