What constituted the artistry of my soul?: A poem 

All through the hectic vacuousness of my life, 

when I thought I had so little, so meagre, 

not even a half-filled glass; I didn’t question 

the lack of generosity of Fate. I am not even arrogant 

in my being above expectation. I am happy with 

the fructose of soulful wisdom, than the  

saccharine of the material. Did my art arise  

from lack of desire? Even as a child, 

I preferred the cocoon of home, rather than  

friends and school.  Did my art arise from 

a solitude that I sought? I just didn’t heed to 

the reality of externalities. There was no teacher, 

I can speak of, who counted as my mentor.  

Yes, I got illustrations, not words, of wisdom 

from Mum and Dad? Did my art arise from 

the recounting of the sad anecdotes and tales 

they related to me? Or, was my art out of my absence  

from reality? I was always conditioned 

by a sadness of not fitting in. I somehow, knew 

there was a large missing piece, till 1996! 

Was my art substantiated from missing… 

feeling aloof from being stonewalled? 

Even when I saw my true love become my reality;  

and furiously denied this present avuncularity of it, I lived  

in the silence of such ironies…not even attempting to possess my love? 

Would these ironies present themselves as peculiarities, 

but really be hidden gifts? Did my art arise out of self-restraint? 

Did my art arise out of conditioning to ironies? And talk  

about the opportunities for sexual escapades, 

that didn’t manifest out of the probabilities of  

circumstance; or my lack of capitalising on them.   

As if I owed it to someone so dear! 

Did my art arise out of such utter abstinence? 

And would you think that I put all my aspiration  

and loves on the backburner, for all that purpose and  

duty that I had to fulfil? Do you think my art came out of self-denial? 

Or a compulsion to something invisible and corporeal as duty? 

And how they tried to snare me, and trap me?! 

And I was always one step ahead or one step behind! 

Did my art arise out of the magic of Houdini? 

And what about the blindfolds imposed on me  

by relentless treachery? Did my art arise out of the 

blindness of immaculate vision?  How did I cavort 

in poverty, but such immense wealth! That I should 

feel gratitude for all that artistry, being inherent in me!