A paint drop dripping down my canvas
In conversation with gravity.
Moving towards the numb wooden floor
Showing some ecstatic audacity.
Smooth like a cat — making no sound
Possessing a sporadic figure.
Warming the ground, spreading on brown
Like a red sheet of gooey mirror.
Watching this sight, the paintbrush’s laughing
Unaware of its own vague nature.
But this drop is colour-blind, only sees red
Its nature is unlike creatures.
My canvas is crying but I can’t help
It hurts me because it’s all mine
If I scrub the floor and a stain is left
I’ll know the drop has lived just fine.
I see the shadows of lives around me.
Silence of the lifeless better than sounds of oxygen.
Chaos more euphonious than ingenious compositions.
Tranquil water more potent than tumultuous torrents.
Fogs more animated than unblemished heavens.
Abstracts more striking than quiet straight lines.
Struggles more promising than effortless accessions.
Autocracy more energetic than dumb democracy.
Herds more organized than pitiful parliament sessions.
Poor man’s feet nattier than rich man’s shoes.
Prostitutes more virgin than souls of politicians.
Enemies more honest than forbearing friends.
Breakups more edifying than reckless relations.
Objectivism more disciplined than arid altruism.
Atheism more righteous than religious obligations.
Books more valuable than unsalable capitals.
Humanity more important than colour of generations.
Picture: Composition VII—according to Kandinsky, the most complex piece he ever painted (1913) (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Kandinsky_WWI.jpg)