I.

There you can see those blurred sights,

What is that exactly? They are some strong lights!
But through the corner of my eye,
I can feel Monet’s sigh.

II.
It is an extension of the same,
But garnering that much desired fame.
Just like Satie, with Biqui, his lover
And Debussy, standing in his support forever.

III.
Who is there? That lonely image there?
You are going farther and farther away! Where?
That is the mystery, just like the ever growing universe-
But that ever growing cosmos continues its enlargement, even in our hearse.

IV.
Paris, a great City with all its flashing gaze,
Nothing but an ever bewildering maze.
Filled with that artistic and intellectual haze
But never ceasing to clench the audience’s craze.

V.
Go out in the gardens and listen to the birds sing!
“At first, the notations were off. I couldn’t understand a thing.
Ornithology made more sense
And then everything was clear to me. I could cross that fence!”

VI.
On the occasion of great pain
I think whatever I have done has gone in vain:
Nothing in my brain
Seems to bring me any gain.

VII.
Abstract expressionism
With half-a-cup of symbolism
Is with its vague imaginations
For all, on reading, is mental masochism.