The Artist
The man asked him: ‘Who are you and what do you do’? He said I am an artist. The man asked: ‘Do you know Michael Angelo’. ‘No’ he replied. Then again the man asked: ‘Do you know Van Gogh’. ‘No’ he replied. Then again he asked: ‘do you know Salvador Dali’? ‘No’ he replied. ‘What you do paint’. He replied ironically: ‘I paint houses and walls’.

He was once upon a time a Math teacher. Now he has lost his senses. Every day I see him on the road with torn and tattered clothes mumbling nonsense. I have been wanting to help him, perhaps taking him to an asylum. But I don’t think I will agree. He is happy the way he is.

I am watching the sunset. The sun danced in a calypso of colors—light dazzled as angels of colors. All of art realism, impressionism, surrealism and pop art lay scattered in a dream. The muse of beauty visited me in passion.

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