FIRE and DISTRESS

-

Art in Frame

All poems copyright: ravivchhabra.com
Managing Editor: fnbworld.com 

Frolicking flowers photo by the poet


.
The artist in me thrives on internal, unending fire and deepening distress. Both creating ripples in the mind.

My art is finetuned by pain. Sillyness of an unending and unreachable sullied love.

Cutting off lush branches of innocent swaying trees...the artist laughs. Then there is silence. No pain but a blank mind.

 I seek emotional wound. Almost like an addiction. Love is the drug. Pain is love. 

Art is created in wilderness and in complete darkness comes alive my drawing slate.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Two Lips and Tulips

-
Image
All poems copyright: ravivchhabra.com   Managing Editor:  fnbworld.com   F lirting in rain and sultry wind are two tulips-like Lewis and Flora. Playing games and music to tease, bound in endless nature’s fragrance at ease.  Flora laughs, frolics and vanishes. Lewis looks around and holds her by the hand then by toe and feels her smooth, shapely hips... Porn is not born for Lewis. Touching her all over in the faded, worn out blue jeans worn in a hurry, the gaps are wide and newly torn. Lewis slides beneath Flora’s creamy thighs reaching new highs Two lips like newly blossomed tulips are arranged in hands with gloves of love. Flora slowly brings the drum-stick near her perfect bosom and bums. Lewis hands over the flute to Flora for soothing her shiny lips A tune they start to play in a garden ‘down under’ jumping together soon on a sofa meant for Flora. Lewis caresses Flora in her home making love after downing a few shots of concocted vodka.  Two sealed lip...
Read more

An ode to the broken man

-
Image
All poems copyright: ravivchhabra.com  Managing Editor:  www.fnbworld.com H e lies under the shadow of the  reading spotlight  hearing  the glisten in the  eeriness of his soul Don't  mock the broken  man He smells of going  fishing with friends and his fine lass walking  back on the pale grass  The  memories keep playing truant not the  dreams he sees of them then and now... Don't mock the broken man He gets visions of her bosom and his hands never wanting to let go as she first helped him slide them inside her black denim shirt  Romancing to make him feel her under the skirt skin Don’t mock the broken man Rich forever he shall be. Memories for breakfast and same for  dessert. They in unison stroked and smoked weed and satisfied their greed Best  indeed Don't mock the broken man Has dawn knocked?   He hears the crows and parrots...
Read more

My untrimmed hair

-
Image
All poems copyright: ravivchhabra.com Managing Editor: fnbworld.com   A t once I am your grizzly bear though not entirely bare I shall soon be there at your stair to get  hair repair In front and rear, she is always near Somewhere if not everywhere I can hope to get trimmed my hair I begin to stare here and there in my lair Where is my cute mayoress so so fair  always willing to trim my hair?  Best at care she gave me the glare with caress and en clair, i s she nowhere? A n honest prayer for my hair There and here she is my compeer far and near and she alone can draw the waves of my hair threadbare She will trim my hair into a fine layer Pears  on a nearer tree  and free Me and she make a worthy hairy pair! C ome  now weave my hair with a bouncy, snappy flair Just she to trim my once lofty now crumpled, worn out hair.
Read more