Eyes that click and grasp, Capture more than the farce. Red room that unveils, Prints, for sale. Ears which hear cries, Churn the waves of lies. Flats and sharps, Through the golden harp. Fingers of fury, Judge, Executioner and Jury. The forbidden colours and scripts Shall soon be hits. One in common, That holds the demon. Mind… which feels all. Burdens it hauls. But true to the heart, So, blooms pain to art. Poem By Sanjeev 'Cimeries' Retnasingam
Art of Cimeries 