Book Creator

The Catharsis and Tragedy of Art

by Janani


The Catharsis
The Catharsis
Tragedy of Art
Tragedy of Art
tabula rasa
courage in quitting
the Pied Piper of Hamelin
today I am an understudy
in a picturesque green world
tabula rasa

the velvety fabric, void of color
begs to be painted on by experience
untouched purity to be adorned with hues of paint
and brushstrokes of gold

your hands trace figures 
and caress the fabric
purposeful strokes 
that transform into intricate patterns 

your benign nature
is a wall of security
your delicate words 
soften even a brush’s barbed bristles
and your gentle hold creates mesmerizing beauty

will everyone be as gentle?
or will my canvas be littered,
defiled, and saturated 
with pungent words
handled aggressively, impatiently
till all that’s left is a monstrosity
that has the audacity to be called art

a bow hurriedly lathered in rosin
saws across the taut strings
as notes ricochet
off the cramped studio’s walls 

as my hand grips the mahogany base
eyes skim the sheet music
and feet tap in irritation
I mentally berate myself
for choosing to play the violin

whose tender song
I once connected with
but grew weary of over time

but as music lessons became dreadful
and practicing became a chore,
I persisted
continued to arrive at the studio with apprehension
and leave in desolation

but the more I tried to force a dying connection
the sooner I came to realize
the courage in quitting
courage in quitting
an unfamiliar melody 
infiltrates his core
moving his body in obedience
to the lulling resonance
of the brass pipe

the boy’s eyes glaze over
like those of a bisque doll
as he runs through winter’s icy clutches
dismissing his mother’s pleas

he joins the assembly of children
blending in with his rosy cheeks
and flaxen curls

and together they trail behind the incongruous man
laughing, shouting
skipping, playing 
up the snow-coated mountains
till they reach the Weser

and then 
one by one 
they immerse themselves into the river’s arms
deeper and deeper
till it engulfs them completely 
and they fall prey to the piper’s malicious ways 

stripping the parents of Hamelin of their beloved children
and leaving their cry of grief to echo indefinitely 
the Pied Piper of Hamelin

a miniature statue sits prettily upon my dresser.
her legs delicately crossed at the ankle,
a hand resting on her jutting hip,
and her neck tilted in coquettish glee.

her presence is less cherished.
she is not sought after for Athena’s advice and wisdom,
nor is she revered for Artemis’ archery and precision.

instead, the goddess of spring, 
 is ridiculed for her juvenile nature.
for falling in love with her abductor,
the king of darkness.

but, no one said that the darkness was evil;
you assumed it.
Persephone saw the light,
 within the shadows you run from.

so, she remained in the Underworld,
with the sole person who recognized her worth.
and they ruled besides each other on black ebony thrones,

imposing eternal damnation
upon unfortunate souls.

leaving behind a cautionary reminder.

the goddess of spring,
of warmth and light,

can still make you bleed prettily.