Mural, Mural on the Wall

I am not just another artwork
Painted in crimson red and jungle green
Giving life to the artist’s wild imaginations,
Treating the eyes of the spectators with a visual feast,
A pristine landscape pictured in all its natural wonders
From the towering mountain crown to the down-pouring falls,
Where the radiating sunlight is reflected from the water-laden leaves
And the green earth builds bridges of canopy to the blue sky above,
Or a damsel of sixteen with dark, seducing eyes
Draped elegantly in transparent clothing like a garden in a mist,
Haunting the dreams of industrious lads, depriving them of sleep
Conquering with a gentle smile, the conqueror of all the lands.

I am the depiction of time, the window of the past
The pages of the history book rising up like the Phoenix from the ashes,
Speaking to the audience not with words but through my contrasting colors
And the entangled lines that connect the various notable instances,
As the numeric dates suddenly start to breathe memories of fire
Calling with a cold voice, the inhabitants of the decaying graves:
‘Mural, mural on the wall. Tell me of the humanity’s rise and fall’
As the words resonate throughout the museum’s grand dusty hall.

V S Balakrishnan is 28 years old from Tamil Nadu, India, and has completed a BA in English Literature. He enjoys writing poetry and short stories, both in English and in his mother tongue, Tamil, in which he is currently writing his first book. V S can be reached at Read other articles by V S.