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Vincent Van Gogh
His life came to a ruinous end
Plummeted into insanity
The red-bearded painter
With his self-hatred, despair and desperation for understanding
He drank yellow paint thinking it would make him happy
Locked up in a mental asylum that would shatter any person’s self-belief
Deceived Vincent cut his earlobe in an unforeseen calamity
But he channelled the awful torment into beauty
Immaculate and sublime
To find ecstasy in the ordinary
And in transforming the banal into a magical masterpiece
The Starry Night, Sunflowers, Self-Portrait, The Potato Eaters, Wheatfield with Crows, Irises, The Bedroom in Arles
Each a genius’s masterstroke into Eternity
A jumble of love, sorrow and rage
Painting the canvas in bold strokes as his heart and mind burst into flames
The King of colour, a whisper into the future unheard in his times
He died in a rut with voices all over his mind.
So, he picked up the gun
And the bullet went straight into his golden heart
Wonder how many colours lost their lives on that day?
Copyright ©
Susmita Mukherjee
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