“the painter”

all the pads are swaddled in lilies
and the creatures dart and dive
while couples lay resting
slowly breathing
simple forms in the afternoon sun
and all the painters are painting
their wrists are dancing
swiftly creating
a picture of swollen time
all the while the rivers are bending
they flow and burn
lifting smooth artifacts
and placing them among the rounded pebbles

but just beyond the trees
wheels are racing
and mothers are washing
they cast away both dirt and sin
quickly arranging the day
complex variations steeped in summer sweat

these are the days of splendor
when happiness becomes motion
transcending both air and sound
filling the wind with soulful musings
like a million monarch butterflies
pushing the sails of eternity
to grasp the unknown shoreline
where hours become days
and seconds are lost forever

i ask you now
wherever will you be
when next the painter unfurls
his canvas gleaming white
asleep in bed at home
or perhaps just maybe
if the stars align this night
you will be dancing underneath them
in a forest filled with light

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 4/2/13


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