Some day they will wonder Where did all the people go? With their dreams and deeds Now rust and patina buried deep Entangled in moss and froth Was it life incomplete Or how it was meant to be? They find a tiffin box with Remnants of a meal A torn cloth – a shroud or veil Who will tell? Buried under the turmoil A lost city of yore Fallen from the map How did it plummet so low! The Armageddon or Apocalypse Poisoned air or men at war? How long to wipe out Another city, another life; Push a tribe from the brink How long after we ignore Lessons of the dead of lore?
Ansh has showcased his work in 43 exhibitions. His paintings have found global affection with more than 400 of his acrylic paintings adorning the homes of patrons in India, Canada, German, Dubai and Hong Kong. He has been featured in newspapers and regularly participates in art competititions.
When you seek beauty and bliss, it seeks you out in return, in its myriad forms. After writing about Shreyan’s creativity, I came across another brilliant, young artist. Ansh Batra, a 14-year old boy, delves mostly in abstract paintings on acrylic. Ansh started painting in his early years and has found refuge and expression in shapes and colors.
A kaleidoscope of colors, the paintings bring cheer and joy. Sometimes, they also reflect inner chaos and jumbled visions, as the artist seeks answers. Whatever be the medium, a work of art can be interpreted in several ways and Ansh’s work resonated with some verses in my archives.
Just waves in the sea
Dewdrops on a petal
Clouds pregnant with rain
Life in motion, fluid, pristine
Souls waiting to be free
Musings by ANEESHA SHEWANI
Acrylic on Canvas by Ansh Batra
Acrylic on Canvas by Ansh Batra
There is no apology
For being simply you
A yellow leaf
Is pretty still
In verdant foliage
A sign of autumn
In a life well-lived
MUSINGS BY ANEESHA SHEWANI
The kiss of a setting sun
On the lips of a dying day
A final blush, an orange glow
Before a black shroud
Covers the last ray
MUSINGS by ANEESHA SHEWANI
Acrylic on Canvas by Ansh Batra
Acrylic on Canvas by Ansh Batra
Dreams explode
Under the pressure
Of restless nights
They now float free
From my eyelid to yours
In triumphant audacity
Musings by ANEESHA SHEWANI
Ansh is a special child with autism. His art has received the unconditional love and blessings of his parents. Anshul, his mother, with utmost humility says that Ansh is learning to work with colors and canvas and will continue to learn all his life. A preview of Ansh’s work is available on his Facebook page managed by Anshul.
With unpretentious and dedicated pursuit of his passion for different strokes, Ansh has showcased his work in 43 exhibitions. His paintings have found global affection with more than 400 paintings adorning the homes of patrons in India, Canada, German, Dubai, and Hong Kong. He has been featured in newspapers and regularly participates in art competitions. His work reflects the depth of the caption in a Facebook video that features his artistic method – “We’re all little broken; last time I checked broken crayons still color.”
If I could fly What feathers to adorn; A tint of pearl A hint of zircon Fragment of an angel Sliver of the Devil Shades of spring Depths of autumn Silver of a dandelion Gold blush of dawn Intricately woven As wings of a human To cross the far horizon!
Far away blows
A song in the winds
In a small town I left
For big city dreams.
Now, I rub stinging eyes
To see lyrics float
In the foul smoke!
I can only hope
After the requiem
Behind this curtain
Of stale, putrid air
Vistas I have known
Still manage to survive
Sodden, gray, yet alive.
Far away blows A song in the winds In a small town I left For big city dreams. Now, I rub stinging eyes To see lyrics float In the foul smoke! I can only hope After the requiem Behind this curtain Of stale, putrid air Vistas I have known Still manage to survive Sodden, gray, yet alive.
Screaming into the void Like lunatics caged, gagged Muzzled emotions, numbed Trolled for spoken words Sounds buried in the head Sane voices, now long dead Victim to resounding fear!
How to silence the howls Raging, trapped in the mind Injustice bellows, how to find Respite, refuge from wounds Growing like sepsis, unheeded Gasping for breathe, unheard Mauled into total surrender.
Blue Pen Strokes 