Death of an artist

He rose on that rough day

When whole world was asleep.

Without much care

he began to play.

His world was small,

his needs were minimal,

his choices were decent, but

his ambition was special.

His heart was artistic,

breaking every shadow;

finding every light,

he conquered his passion

with his own delight.

Never looked back,

nor he bothered to,

but destiny was not his mate,

it lacked the heart that he possessed.

There came obstacles,

there came droughts.

That made suffer his hay,

every season he thought.

Lips trembled in cold,

body shattered in heat,

but his love for travel;

never rested in peace.

Then came a day,

when fame kissed his feet

and success hugged him hard,

but he refused to settle

even if, his body cracked every part.

Such was his love.

For sake of humanity,

let these artists fly like dove.

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