The Primary And The Secondary Artist. Poem by Subrata Ray

Primary they seem
As the two ever claim,
In joint venture’s rime,
To shape and name,

They don’t know what they create, ,
Their desire prompted them and set,
And she, you, and me bud and fade.

Iota and iota, form zygote,
But the deep images in series,
From province unknown,
Come by mystic flown,
As if from Vast Unconscious breeze.

The Desire’s air,
The Will’s fair,
Bear the seed of creation,
Again in body’s cell,
There is an occult tale,
To initiate the art.

Sea, Sky, Landscape,
The parts of the Artist’s shape,
Where in His art plays,
As in us, -the mundane clay.

We recreate, what He creates within,
The ferocity of Tiger, and Lamb’s bleating,
Both in shape and content are His,
And even what he reflects, we miss.

Every man and woman in shape and thought,
By Him through His enigmatic art are brought,
Imagination, words, feelings, -all-roll,
In our body all His arts constitute our soul