decay of the urban type

Originally uploaded by DraconianRain

We build dreams in houses we know

With the light coming through

The small shaded window



With duo toned, textured walls that radiate liaisons

Of those who have been there

For countless generations



The damp that creeps in through the old moss covered ceiling

Ladens the air heavy

With a moist dull feeling



The old gate with a creaking, faulty, oil painted hinge

Is wilting on its own

with a soft rusty brown tinge



The paint that chips off flaky and dry

Exposes the bare bricks

Makes my heart cry



The old cracked and crooked pipes plead

As they are let open into the hollow paving

Let out to bleed



The drama of the urban decay within me

Unfolds and divulges the vile side

But I let it be



But you, my friend, should find the sky so vast

That sights itself through the little window

And get away from the ominous past…


unlike those, who build houses in dreams they know....

Power cuts are delightful things. They make me do the most unexpected things at the most unexpected times. I was pondering about why I had lost the will to sketch lately, and found no answers.
But then, at work the other day, along came a power cut, and the first 3 point perspective sketch I have ever made. Thanks MSEB, for giving me my own special power cut time for doing some magical things!

Once upon a time, there lived a poet called Mr Robert Frost. If he were still alive, we'd remember him for this:

"I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I...
I took the one less traveled by,
But the friggin' bastards paved it too.... "

Sad world we are leaving for our kids...

nostalgia

Happiness lies mostly in little things. I lost people who gave me happiness in small things. But I haven't lost their memories. They will always remain. Their pictures are still so fresh in mind. I pray I never forget them.