The decline of a hobby, so passionate
to a duty, so monotonous is heralded
when the artist basks in to glory of mediocrity.
The unsatiated mind feels the fall steeper,
when thoughts embellished on paper
transgress from enlightenment to mere illumination.
Like a deer running in the wilderness, his mind
as the predatory fear of oblivion chased it
not letting it graze on the pastures of its own creation.
Hence fame, hoarded like a treasure abundant
yet impoverished of sanity to stay in its embrace for long
as the ghosts of envy and illusioned pressure of peers leered on him.
The artist's art is known to flood the mind with dopamine
but when it precipitates into unwanted endorphins
is when the artist fled to the tranquil solidarity.
There the artist discovered the artist sans his art
for creation has pathways beyond comprehension
and this art was nothing but a lane among millions
To discover that his art was a mere speck of what he was
to rejuvenate the mind of all the prejudice and exhaustion
imperative was this sabbatical, to not abdicate,
his yearning to create, for he is and will be, an artist.
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