YOU WERE BORN SWADDLED IN A STRIP OF CLOTH.

THAT STRIP THEN STRETCHED INTO THE CANVAS OF YOUR LIFE.

FIFTY-NINE YEARS LATER, YOUR PALETTE

RAN DRY. TIME HARDENED ITS PAINT,

COLOURED FLAKES FELL LIKE MEMORIES LOST.


ON 27 JANUARY, WE WRAPPED YOU

IN THE OTHER END OF THAT FIRST SWADDLING CLOTH,

AND LAID YOU TO REST.

FOR ME, YOU ARE NOT YET DEAD.

YOU LIVE AS EVERY ARTIST DOES

THROUGH THE TIMELESS DNA

OF YOUR OWN TIMELESS CREATIONS.




F.S.AIJAZUDDIN
31 MARCH 2016