Life’s Museum

©

We went to an art exhibit—my friends and I.
There were displays with golden shades;
There were ones with plastic and glass, instead.
There was an amazing wall of photography;
And of course, paintings! Paintings were everywhere!
There’s this one abstract that grabbed my attention.
It was battered and ripped apart,
As if a stampede of lions ran on it.
Then I wondered, what was its meaning?
Because somehow, that painting—
That abstract art with a camouflaged meaning—
Was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

A friend called my name.
As I looked left and right,
I was surprised to find
That I was all alone—
Should I be afraid?
And then I realized:
I don’t remember how I got there.
I asked “Did we take a cab? Or the train?”
Then they just laughed.
Was I going insane?
But who? Who laughed at me?
“Are you joking?” someone asked out of the blue.

Then I looked just across the hall,
And that abstract spoke.
At that precise moment,
I was dumbfounded with everything!
What was happening? Am I just dreaming?
Am I high? Am I drunk? Because
The walls kept growing bigger and bigger.
Blank canvasses were bursting out of nowhere.
And every piece was getting even more and more
colours!

I took a deep breath,
And I realized, again:
That every voice was from different pieces;
That every person was a pending art work—
Proud to be hung on life’s walls; as
Time played the music through its halls.

Every person is an art work.
Everyone starts out with just a blank paper.
And each moment is another colour,
May it be darker or brighter.

Every person is an art work.
Some, you can’t make out with just one look.
Others are too simple.
But like a thumb print, no two pieces were alike.

Every person is an art work.
Few choose to live in black and white.
Many would mix and match the colour wheel.
But one thing’s for sure:
Every painting is a beautiful sight.

And remember the frayed abstract I was talking about?
That wasn’t me, if that’s what you’re thinking.
It was a new friend; a new love, I suppose.
Do you know why he’s ripped apart?
He has a son, and what once was a wife.
Life deprived him from the two things that made him
happy;
The only two things that made him smile.
Do you know why he’s still beautiful, though?
Because despite of it all,
He still has this superb, inimitable glow.

Thinking about him made my life seemed like a lie:
I thought I already had it rough,
When in fact, when you compare his and my story?
Mine is like a chipped nail versus World War III.
And when I see him—a battered and ripped abstract—
Still hanging with hopes and dreams,
That’s enough to inspire me to keep on going.

I don’t intend on waking up in the morning
Having to regret the night that I chose to stop my
painting.
I have been through a lot in my life,
Enough for me to stop with just black and white;
I reached a point that I thought I was doomed.
But hey! You only get one chance to hang in life’s
museum.

So my love, take a brush
And embrace every moment.
Close your eyes, and dip that brush in paint.
As they say, life’s a bitch; so
Be spontaneous; be brave.