Like threads woven together to make art Criss-crossed thoughts intertwine As we grope around in the dark to tie up the ends Of the ongoing debate and the questions thrown at us Stupefied, yet clear about what the art should look like
The clock keeps on ticking There’s a fading light As we inch closer to dawn Our amateur hands slowly weave the narrative Firmer, stronger and clearer.
The echoes of these actions resonate And the threads pull in the whole world Me too, you too want to contribute And we lend a hand to the fallen artists Weavers whose stories have been painted red
And we repaint. Slowly, one thread at a time, One question at a time One answer at a time. And the potpourri of colours, of styles, of rhythms Add to the narrative And make it more prominent
And this should give cause to celebrate Not the fact that there exist fallen artists But that there are now a thousand more hands to support them And keep the art going The threads of the debate have been picked up Loose ends will be tied together The red paint will lead to red jails And as the sun rises, we shall see that time is indeed up.