A Canvas In Retrospect Poem by Francis Tikava
A Canvas In Retrospect
Away from me now!
Away!
I cannot feed you, clothe you or care for you,
Your stolid nature and frail frame depress me.
A painting, you claim, a work of art,
But there is no art in aching and crawling,
Only pain.
You laud what is true,
No matter the nature in rotting trees,
Each brush stroke is like a dart,
My heart, the bull’s eye, is shrinking.
And soon I will not gape at your self-righteous face.
You have no home here, I forget your embrace.
Original :) again a brilliant read that makes you clearly see what the art of painting means to you, ive understood it as your way of expressing certain pent up emotions, therapy in a way. I like how you have then reflected this with critisism of your own creative expressions.
This is very intense. I feel anger. Is that what you are trying to relay? Or do I mistake the anger for heartache and longing to be accepted? I hope you write more. Thank you for reading my poem Butterfly.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/3/2024 8:07:42 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Wow a commendable poem with an allegorical painting with words so kudos accept.