Our Imperfect Love

My art penetrates through souls

It is a lecture, a speech, an essay 

My art penetrates through your eyes 

It has colors on papers which tell a story 

It tells you about a girl, by the river wanting to go home

It tells about a man in his 50s, wanting to travel 

My art is like a showpiece, beautiful when new, ugly once old 

My art is like a bottle of water 

It is done with when consumed and has no value after 

My art walks on roads, climbs mountains, and crosses the river 

My art has the desire , better now or never 

My paintings and my writings have a heart, mind, and soul 

My art lives for itself, for you and for our goal

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My art is in the petrichor, it is in the breeze 

My art is in the dewdrops like nature has me

Your art is my heart, your soul is in your art 

Science is an art itself, while art is science too

The broken wall is an art 

My balcony is messed up, like my knowledge on art 

But my room has a lot of people, like the examples of art 

Define it or not, art is a mess itself 

A beautiful mess where we are mere strokes of the brush 

The bushes are art , they are green and lush 

My art is in the right and also left side of my north 

Thinking of the creations I pace back and forth 

I come to the conclusion that art is my one and only soul