“When an artist passes away, some bits of him start living in his works. till the time he was alive, he was this other self, roaming around the streets of this world, but now that he is dead, his works take an inner glow, as if they hold some bits of his soul… shining from behind the canvas and the frame, in a soft, translucent glow.”
Posted as a comment on this post by my blogger-senior Ennyman, http://ht.ly/2MWTM . thought it was good enough for an individual post ЁЯЩВ tell me if you liked it.
Born in New Delhi, India in 1980 and is a retired pessimist (still) living in New Delhi. He has Haryanvi ancestors, a Punjabi girlfriend, friends all over the world, two (or more) yet to be born children, (many) memories of (many) pet dogs and no cats ever. He holds an honours degree in English Literature from the University of Delhi and creates advertisements for paying the bills. His interests are universal, and include: living, eating, sleeping and when not sleeping, daydreaming. Other abiding interests include reading, writing, street photography, newspaper editorials, watching the moon and planning trekking trips that never materialize.
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