It’s nearly dusk, the white mists rise, like foam above the waters, and I cannot lie - for the life of me, I’m scared and I could swear I see the strange pale light. I fight to see through the blur and misty skies, I cannot trust the mind nor sight. Yet out there it… Continue reading Will o’ th’ Wisp
What's in art? Those fleeting passions, unpremeditated escapades and that's all... They tease with fantasy, imaginary lands and magic, leaving behind only memory: lines, hues, rhythm - that's all... Opening lost doors of the mind, into thoughts tucked far away; conjuring a dream that is lived only to abandon, never stay... For once the pen… Continue reading On the folly of it all…
Dry not, my pen, nor bite the dust before my time, you're the nepenthe to my agonies, the breath to my life. Dry not, my pen, nor leave me to fend for myself, your nib is my sword, your ink my solitary help. Dry not, my pen, nor grow weary of my imprint, I am… Continue reading Dry not, my pen
Inspiration is the bird that alights on the mountain of the mind, adding ripples of music, to the flowing rivulets of thought... © Isha Garg
