Misbah enjoys writing poetry and loves to convey the messages of Love through her poems.
The Wild Artist
The artists, who claim the world's canvas
As soon as they step onto the track.
The circular palette is put to the test by their fingers.
Before they let the colors of the sky into their souls,
They must first open their hearts to the colors of the sky.
Cyan, red, royal blue, or plum, just a few colors
Pastels, azure, ocher, and pink
One stain is for the sun, and another is for the moon.
And a star-studded ballet, the softness of the night
And a carpet of clouds, white and lovely during the day.
A magnificent tree with blossoming fruit
A lovely flower with velvet petals.
And the gentle north wind,
Full of a thousand whispers.
Mother Nature's enormous heart
Dive to the depths of the blue seas.
Finding the true love, searching for Eternity
The artists, with gold at the end fingers
As skillful as florists, using a clumsy brushstroke
They upset the balance of their fragile planet
Shake it until the fibers are loose.
Until the tiniest grain of clay
Forests are being burned, and rivers die,
Dry beds, charred trees
The artist loses control of the colors.
Due to a desire to mix them all.
Artists, who, If they so desire,
Take the place of the pianist.
To impose their tune
Notes that are misplaced,
How significant is it?
The orchestra is out of tune.
But the only thing that matters is that you are present.
Nature creates what scares her.
On the verge of self-destruction
When there is peace, she brings war.
She sheds tears as she smiles
The poet's weapon is the flower.
The author's weapon is his words
But no one is more violent than an artist,
Who's holding a brush in his hands.
If I could say it in words there would be no reason to paint.
— Edward Hopper
© 2021 Misbah Sheikh