the translation

there's just something about lazy sunday afternoons..

the imaginary voice in my head has to come up with some ideas..

well, travesty of an idea, if it has to be translated...

there’s a script, a production, a business;

the direction, a transformation of arts;

from process to a celluloid to be seen;

a translation of idea to magic on screen.

there are steps, a name, and a movement;

an orchestra, tunes, harmonious figment;

the people, the grace, the flair, the hands,

a translation of order into music and dance.

there’s a noble thought, and the profits;

a funding, a research and there’s science;

endless moments, rights and the wrong;

a translation of enterprise to innovation.

there are trusses, patterns, the forces;

a design, a blue-print, the structures;

the architects, the lines, and the mesh;

a translation, dimensions to living monuments.

there’s a thought, a motive, the gain, highness;

an eccentricity, soliloquy, an inexplicableness;

the actors, the puppets, the butterfly effects;

a translation of a form from mind to the minds.

all along, there’s a start, an objective form;

a capital, so concrete, the obviousness;

a change, from routine to serene, subjective;

a translation, which just raises questions.

what if there’s a pattern, to be lived out;

a base work, already put down, abstracted out;

the stage is the world, we are acting out;

a translation, just to find the meaning of it all.

all the moments mean something, no matter what;

a translation they await, we'll never be aware!