Sketching Peace

Mind-fucked again. Feeling hollow and broken with the knowledge that something is wrong, something is not true, something is not right. Shattered dreams expose the reality. Grappling with the reality that stares you in the face, trying hard to find a solution but realizing deep inside that a solution is not possible when the problem is not clear. There is hurt, pain, misery but they all stem from something shapeless.

The questions are many and I don’t have any answers. I don’t want any answers. I want neither hope nor despair. I want to go home – but to nobody and to nothing. I just want to be alone – free and peaceful.

I start looking at them one by one. All of them aren’t good. Some are not shaded right and some are not proportionately sketched. But there are few which I will not forget. Like the gentle old man with his time warped wrinkles and soft cheeks. He looked satisfied. Content. He looked at peace.

Lisa Ray looked really beautiful. There was nothing ostentatious about this picture. Very simple with the hair neatly pulled back. Smooth lines and curves intermingling with each other and eyes that looked crystal clear. No embellishments, no jewels. Just pure beauty.

As I flipped through I felt better. The last one – the best one – takes time to come but even waiting for it is an experience, second only to the experience of absorbing the last sketch.

Eyes closed and partly open lips. A fair face. In perfect contrast yet in harmony with her long, black and flowing tresses. She is saying something but you cannot hear it. She speaks neither in words nor with her eyes. What she says can only be experienced. The innocence, the virginity, the flawlessness metamorphose into a beautiful statement of truth which only the heart can hear and the soul can feel.

Liberation. Beauty. Peace.