ShivaniMathur  
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I do not know when I had my first brush with art.

Perhaps when as a child my mother made mountains of rice with a egg yolk sunrise, to engage me as she fed me.

Or when I arranged my cupboard with her, stacking the reds and the blues in separate piles.

At the age of five I painted the cat.

I touched an alligator in the zoo. It  reminded me of lychees brushing my legs as I climbed a tree at my grandfathers house.

 My mothers lustrous pearls from Basra remind me of war.

Looking at a bright yeIlow Rothko I smell ripe Alphonso mangoes.

I love watching sun rays race through the stratosphere. 

And fast cars  shine on the streets of London.

I love watching plants grow.

I love smiling eyes.

And I love a tube of rich Blue paint.