And the artist died...

The person who is born never know how much transition  are they going to endeavour in their life/ will take place in their life. The artist also didn't know that like the rest of the lot. From early age, the sensitive nature of the artist made it possible to observe the complexity of scenarios going on in the surrounding; some were understood while most appeared unimportant yet  they were observed very keenly .

With the number of passing years, this observation started to show its true colours, the artist started to illustrate all  those observations in form of paintings; those little pieces of drawings and patterns on vases were of much significance than the world’s most precious art crafts to the artist. The artist knew what potential was being contained in much a small body. Perhaps it was this very basic (or over confidence) which urged the artist to write small pieces of poetry as well. “ I still remember, the first poem was on a doll. When submitted to the teacher; it didn't get the response which I thought it would get. The teacher looked at the paper and kept her head low. Then she handed that paper back to the kid and asked if that poem could be written again in a better handwriting and then submitted after a few days. In the course of those few days the artist kept on looking at the content and realized that it should be improved but next time, again, was returned the very same page with the somewhat similar response. After that the artist kept on writing little pieces of poetry for some time but never showed it to someone” the artist thought. Soon it was realized by the artist that perhaps poetry is not what the true potential is.

Now the artist only practised to improve sketching. Soon it was realized that writing was something in which the artist found peace. Bilingual (English and Urdu) was what artist wanted to excel in future. Numerous days and constant digging for hours produced content which was fortunately, appreciated.  This delicacy helped the artist a lot gather and express the respective thought in a synchronized way.

Soon reached the time when the artist realized that sciences is what should be presumed in order to compete with the world. High school led to college and the artist got lesser time to practice the passion. Study, study and study was the ultimate motto. Perhaps it was the need of that time; perhaps that was the best for the artist……………..

The artist became less expressive. The emotions which could easily be identified in that delicate work lost their platform. Complexity is gained when momentum is lost. There came a time when the artist could barely believe how that magic was contained in that very same person and how it was lost…