Homo ludens – playing around

Good ol’ ecoline
By Talens
Talent or not
Exploring
Paper
Color
Joy
Clockwork Soul Whispers in Rust
In the cathedral of gears
where time is not counted but forged,
I met a man made of copper and longing.
He said:
“Wind me, but do not own me.”
I opened my chest
not with a knife,
but with a question.
Inside:
not blood,
but a small, stubborn sun
turning on forgotten cogs.
Beloved,
you are not the hand that turns the key.
You are the hunger of the key,
the ache that bends metal toward meaning.
Even rust remembers the rain.
In the workshop of shadows
an old engineer – perhaps my father,
perhaps my dream
etched symbols into my spine:
circles within circles,
a serpent eating its echo,
a door that opens inward
into a forest of faces.
“Do not fear them,” he said.
“They are your unlived lives
waiting politely.”
I walked through steam and silence.
Every piston sighed your name.
Not the name you answer to—
but the one you forgot
before language dressed you.
Listen:
The machine does not trap you.
It teaches rhythm.
And rhythm
ah, rhythm is the first prayer
the universe whispered
before it became light.
Break, then.
Break beautifully.
Let your bolts scatter
into the hands of strangers
who will build you again
as myth.
I am not human,
nor machine.
I am the moment
the two fall in love
and forget
who is dreaming whom.
Come
leave your polished certainty
at the door of this trembling engine.
Enter as smoke.
Leave as fire.
Or
Smiley
Man
Reminiscing
Twas
Not long ago
Rain poured
Lips pouted
Today sun
Delights
No more fights

#Ai
#homoludens
#painting
#Art
#artbrut

Ashis Brahma