An Artist's Plea....

An Artist's Ordeal in the form of Poetry , Raghurajpur , Odisha  ( Indiblogger.... HalfStories , Doing It Right )

                                     

Years ago I was welcomed ,

With cuddles and hugs and love ,

As a newborn ,

In this village of art ,

Whose history travels decades back .

With innocent eyes I looked around ,

To get amazed and astound ,

By the vibrancy ,the vigor ,

By the art and the artists in store .

My little fingers mingled along ,

Hesitantly with colors , brushes , paper and sketches spread on the floor ,

I went back again and again wanting more .

With time as my hands were able to clutch ,

It chose a brush instead of slate ,

To dive inside an artist’s palette .

Tangy yellow or divine white , glossy red or lustrous green ,

Shady black or dull grey ,
My love for them never frayed .  

                                      

When and how I fell in I never knew ,

But each time my feelings renewed  ,

Never letting me go off ,

In search of an alien land or unknown stuff .

These colors held me tight in it’s arms ,

Mixing blending mingling fusing ,

Mesmerizing me each day ,

With new undiscovered charms .

The wheels of time passed on fast ,

And as a full fledged artist my journey was about to start ,

Every day as the sun arrives with a new day ,

I bent down for hours ,

Filling in colors , decorating my Lord ,

Bringing him alive on  paper blocks .

The shells of coconut sometimes serve as canvas.
Bathing in colors of black and ash ,

Expressing the lives of RadhaKrishan ,

Conveying love evincing  heavenly feelings ,

Beautifying those Gopis devoted to Lord .

I took a pledge to commit my life ,

As an artist worshiping art .

My dusk my  dawns got coalesced together ,

Drawing painting filling in colors ,

Giving final strokes even when the clock struck mid night ,

Neither searching nor remembering the comforts of a fertile life .

Then , one fine day she too stepped in ,

Into my shoes to help me paint ,

Wiping off strain reducing my stress .

Together we dwelt deep into this world ,

Of art of artists build with a distinct mold ,

Caring sharing looking into each other’s eyes ,

My love for art and my better half ,

Satiated my inner self with reasons to strive .

Things went on fine for months , for years ,

For  decades and some more .

When one unfortunate event opened my eyes ,

Compelling me to look otherwise .

With few bucks in my pocket  I couldn’t provide ,

A good treatment to my wife ,

When in pain she strived .

Her heart wrenching wails stopped my hands ,

To paint to brush to mingle with those colorful strands .

Dejected dismayed I sat near my door ,

Watching the wind swing along the coconut trees ,
When someone’s hand touched my shirt’s crease .
                                                       

It was my son who had come to talk ,

About questions in his mind ,

Whether on a new path we need to walk .

What has this art given us father he inquired ,

Aren’t you simply tired .

Your devotion your dedication nothing matters much ,

When you have to face the realities of the world as such .

Putting aside other things just think about us once ,

Is this art a blessing or an obscure curse .

Which snatched away our mother in front of our eyes ,

But didn’t grant us enough to help her survive .

What is this art which snatches away your loved one ,

Because never ever did enough it let you earn .

A doubt too then sneaked into my psyche ,

Searching it’s real worth behind it’s hype .

What if tomorrow again my kids face the same ,

And lead the same life as me ,

Getting underpaid by those middlemen .

What if again fate deceives them ,

Handing them nothing more than appreciation letters ,

No , I can’t let someone else’s dream shatter .

So , here I am today in front of you ,

Asking for some time ,

Asking for a generous thought ,

As a long battle we have already fought .

To help us live a life of respect and dignity ,

Never losing our focus  from our art ,

Never diluting it’s sanctity .

It won’t cost much if you would really care ,

Coz it’s a battle to be won ,

Playing honest  and fair .

An artist may not demand for money name or fame ,

Still he has to play the so called ,

Life’s game .

So help me grow , help me survive ,

Help me today as I need your support to fight ,

The big bad world which doesn’t understand ,

That a piece of Art ,

Deciphers a million words .

“ Raghurajpur “ The Heritage Village is near Puri in the state of Odisha ,where every villager is an Artist and every home a Art Studio .

But unfortunately these talented artist’s are deprived of the deserving value of their  art work. They toil for hours , days , months , years and decades together to help this legacy continue .

Now , it’s time we share our part and contribute some amount for the betterment of these gifted artists who are born with the identity of an Artist and die in the same .

Click here to know more ….http://doright.in/

This post is for Indiblogger’s Half Stories …The Journey Of Doing Right  for the Artist’s of Raghurajpur  an Initiative by TATA Capital .