An Artist

He writes,

He draws,

He paints,

He builds,

He composes,

He sings,

He dances,

He acts.

Meet the first half of an artist.

"First-half?"

Yes, first half.

Because the second half is almost always ignored.

"Ignored?"

Yes, ignored.

Like the sap of a tree

coursing through every branch into every leaf

and magically metamorphosing them into flowers and fruits.

Those branches

turn into a symphony

when the sap of melodious courage to let go of stinky beliefs

grows in a human heart.

Those leaves

turn into a novel

when the sap of lush love for the full spectrum of experiences

rustles in a human heart.

Those flowers

turn into a painting

when the sap of vivid silence

unfurls in a human heart.

Those fruits

turn into a dance

when the sap of sweet reverence for life

appear in a human heart.

That sap in the human heart,

when opened up to,

gives birth to an artist.

And then he creates.

Creates that which we look in awe at.

Without that precious sap

he may entertain

but can never throb with creation.

Just like the decoration trees

which can amaze our eyes for some time

but can never communicate with the sun

or

have an intercourse with the earth.