O, Pour Painter…
How much enough is enough to make it enough?
Your buckets, mugs, hose shower
Indecent irrelevant paints all above and around
Just to make a mark on your canvas.
Colours added like vegetables in a stew
Cooking for a daawat;
So much and so many
The stationery owners cannot afford you…
O, Pour Painter…
How much enough is enough to make it enough?

O, Pour Painter…
How much enough is enough to make it enough?
Your style and skills residing in
Aerodynamics… and just that,
Starting your process with an abstract,
Pouring and spilling over in abstract,
Mixing abstract, employing
Forces and pseudoforces of abstract Nature
To do your work,
Did you expect any else than abstract,
O, Pour Painter…
How much abstract is abstract enough to make it abstract?

O, Pour Painter…
What abstract is abstract enough to be considered abstract?
While you splash around the room,
And call it beauty,
Do you ever realize
A bug could’ve made that…
A machine can make that…
Do you ever realize, it could’ve been made
Without your involvement in any?
O, Pour Painter…
What abstract is abstract enough to be considered abstract?
The bread crumbs on my table,
Crumpled up newspaper and chocolate wrappers
Few coins for some use,
Without my interference, is all abstract.
Do you ever question yourself,
O, Pour Painter…
Why are you worth what you’re worth?

O, Pour Painter…
Why are you worth what you’re worth?
When you visit an art gallery,
Introing yerself an artist,
Do you ever look at other arts
That have taken months to fall into shape,
And compare?
Do you ever feel guilty of
Feeling like an artist,
Maybe you don’t deserve to be that?
Do you ever relate yourself to a self-declared cook
Who has always cooked Maggi?
When you tell other struggling artists
That you let physics paint your paintings
Do you ever detect a wisp of disappointment in their eyes?
Although you have created a beauty
And continue to create that,
Do you ever wonder,
O, Pour Painter…
Why are you worth what you’re worth?

O, Pour Painter…
Why don’t you accept what you have accepted?
That Pour Painting isn’t real art!
A daring artist with nothing to lose comes up
With his art printed through his vision,
A dream sequence
That he imagined, recreated, sketched, painted over
With hundreds of interpretations
Of each box and faces that resembled
The demons of his dreams.
Do you reciprocate with your art,
With no more adjectives but beautiful or magnificent?
With no more interpretation but
‘My Hairdryer did this’…?
As you smile at him for a pinch of validation,
That you and him are in the same boat,
Sooo similar with your expressions,
He destroys your bubble
“POUR PAINTING ISN’T REAL ART!”
They all have said the same thing,
Anyone can do what you do,
O, Pour Painter…
Why don’t you accept what you’ve accepted?

O, Pour Painter….
Why are you worth what you’re worth?
It’s just physics. All physics.
Classic Aerodynamics.
Densities acquire the canvas,
Viscosity help them stay,
All that’s left is the Navier-Stokes
To transpose your precious paints and create “art”.
Haven’t you realized yet, O Pour Painter…
Haven’t you realized yet, that
All art of all are created this way.
It’s just physics. All physics…
O, Pour Painter…
What art is art enough to be considered art?

O, Pour Painter…
What art is art enough to be considered art?
While y’all paint the same way,
Using same principles of physics,
Why aren’t y’all the same?
Why aren’t y’all treated the same?
Is it because I lack the eye for imagination?
Is it because I am trying to find mountains, silhouette,
And coniferous trees fading in fog?
Is it because there’s no bowl of fruits,
Those common fruits that are unreal still?
Is it because I think any abstract is abstract enough
To be considered abstract?
O, Pour Painter…
What artist is enough for art to be considered art?

O, Pour Painter…
What artist is enough for art to be considered art?
When it’s all controlled by a viewer’s eye
So occupied with its personal issues and biases-
And all y’alls’ arts are viewed, compared, and scored
By that eye that questions
What art is art enough to be considered art!
The viewer is your twin who makes art art.
The viewer is your nemesis who collates all abstract as one.
The viewer is a material that your art has
Mistakenly spoken to, without context.
The viewer is a meter that calculates your Efforts,
Creativity, Genius, and Talent, and aggregates
All of them into variations of “Nice”.
Is that whom your art should speak to?
Is that whom your helpless art should listen to
When they utter any commentary on it?
Why don’t you just do a favour to your art and kill the viewer?
Why don’t you free your abstract, or soon-to-be-abstract art
From the shackles of tacky egotistic interpretations?
Why don’t you let your art be, without harassing it with
‘What does it mean?’ ‘Is there a significance?’…
Once the viewer has been cremated perfectly,
O, Pour Painter…
What art is art enough to be considered art?

O, Pour Painter…
What art is art enough to be considered art?
With no external viewers to help you consider it,
Do you still feel your art is art enough?
Do you still feel that any colourful spit-and-smear
Should be placed in the same room as the canvas with
Melting clocks scattered across a deserted shore?
With none to interpret or quantize art,
It’s just you who feels the need to justify your art
With any else’s.
Do you still feel your art is art enough?
Or do you feel your art doesn’t belong to any gallery?
Where should it be if not in a gallery alongwith other arts?
But, should it be in the same room as other sophisticated arts?
Can you feel the existential crisis your art is undergoing?
So hard and confusing for it to be and justify.
So tough for you to decide to create and let be
The most confused creature in the real world,
The prion of artworks,
O, prion…
What life is life enough to be considered life?

O, Prion…
What life is life enough to be considered life?
While enzymes, sphincters, neurotransmitters sync
Well-timed super-orchestrated action of a thumbs up;
With lipids, pheromones describing the thumbs-up giver,
And fingerprints on her up thumb describing her on paper,
You, a prion, float away with no fingerprints… just a protein blob,
Living like everyone else, with everyone else,
With so much guilt, you have to depend on others
To make your life seem life:
A pour painting of the living world.
Is this whom you resonate with,
O, Pour Painter…
What price should you pay to exist?
What penalty should you cover to deserve your worth?
None…
No matter how many viewers you kill,
They keep coming back for your art calls them
It is a mad ritual in the religion of arts
For an art to lure its viewers.
An artist of one is a viewer of the rest.
And a viewer is an artist unknown.
A viewer should disrespect your art only when
They fail to provide a place for it in their mind.
As the limited space of mind thins,
A viewer questions the artist
What art is art enough to be considered art.
And the World does not stop revolving,
Nothing really matters.

O Pour Painter,
What matter is matter enough to matter?
O Pour Painter
O Pour Painter !