Vincent van Gogh: Happy 167th Birthday

While he was alive, we never gave him the respect we do now. That’s what life is I guess, we leave our footprints for decades, sometimes centuries. Our art lives on even when we don’t, even when we never did….

Here is something I want to say to the artist I have loved the most. I never knew you Vincent van Gogh, and Oh would I not give everything for meeting you once.

Painting: Bedroom in Arles

Oh Vincent! Have you shut the door yet?
To cry within the unkempt blanket you painted red
And what are those disheveled paintings you have hung on your walls?
Some bearded man who doesn’t talk, some tree about to fall
I came to meet you a while ago, but you were not home
Have you shut the door tight enough? What if some thief groped?
You tell me you have nothing inside, just a messed up bedroom tile
On which you have drawn some indecorous lines
But Oh Vincent! you have colours out of your bedroom door
Colours keeping you alive, which no one adores

Do you ever dare to open the window when people play drums?
During weddings and processions, do they still call you a punk?
Who sits by those chairs? Who pours tea from the tea pot?
Do you talk to the stars at night? Wait, there’s a rooftop.

I know you smirk sitting on that third chair, painting this up
Not standing this time, cause it is a lot of painful work,
You planned this up, Did you not?
The blanket was not painted red, you created this fuss

You are waiting for me, yes you are
A pretentious brat you are, a sound one for sure
Let’s not sit on the chairs in the bedroom though, they don’t quite feel alright
Maybe a little fresh air, cause I can no more lie….

Painting: Café Terrace at Night

To a restaurant maybe, the one you hate and love the most
My treat this time, we can later beg for clothes
Don’t they call you a drunkard here? Don’t you hate sitting outside?
Don’t they ask you why do you need a beer, when already you have no food or a stinking dime
It is a pretty place for strangers, let us choose a table on the pavement
Outsider you are, it might give you the title, lame-head
And then we may see the stars, which people inside cannot
We can pretend we are doing something great, by being metaphorical snobs
The world isn’t heaven, but we can always wonder it is
I am living a lie already, let us combine our worlds and join within!
Oh Vincent, I would never bid you goodbye
I…I……

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