On an autumn painting, and an eternity...

It was an oil paint
Yet beautiful,
A road through which a figure was walking,
A figure walking as if
The walk was the only

Surrounding that figure
The canvas had a flavour of an aura,
A few lamp posts stood still

And the walk continued,
Eternalised by art,
The painting,
Like all art forms eternalise moments,
Like tunes,
Like sculpture,
Like written forms,
Like fictions,
Like each word
Like each stroke of a paintbrush,

Every part of this existence
Carries meaningful sense...

This walking paint
Of the autumn sky post noon faint,
Reminded me that
Once again...


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