the arty

THE ARTY The arty, silent servants of the high masters of art from the forgotten land of spirits Where the breathing, introverted river of life rests High masters, serene spirits floating upon the calm surface of the river of life Under the loving, warm gaze of the original sun The light, humble sun wearing illumined robes weaved by the ever-creating hands of Kreya, the goddess of creation Robes made out of unnamed colours inspired by the nomadic, fragrant breath of the river of life The very breath that would rise to impregnate the infinite, hovering space of nothingness, so more space can be born This infinite space, the art gallery that exhibits the newly created, imperfect works of the master artists Works of yet to be dreamt, fluorescent dreams that leave voyeuristic Gods in awe The very Gods that peer through all to see pure beginnings So as to remember the secret power of forgetting These fluorescent dreams. Worlds to which the light spirits of the arty would travel to To fetch vibrant yet to be learnt lessons of creation The arty with minds stilled by images whispered into life by merchant winds Merchants that exchange the mystery of things to those that offer to part with their cherished, glistening thoughts The silent ones So they can again be the instruments of Kreya So they can feed the hungry universe with creation So we can finally speak the language of our gods, art.