They say world is only beautiful, as many colors you let yourself see
So I am drawing on my canvas, a start
To my beautiful story.
My brushes are dry, my hands are rigid
My strokes tremble, at times, all I can put down is,
blotches of dark and brown fillers in it
Colors fade, I worry..did I make my emulsion too thin?
Added a little yellow to my beautiful sky blue
But my sun starts to shine green
Life looks bleak, now and then, dosen’t it?
like this dull canvas I cannot add color to
I sit down and try to imagine my picture perfect scene
Then rampage on myself
for my inability to make people, see it through
A tear escapes, I wonder where it came from
I stare at my canvas…it barely looks like the one I thought of
How can one see the insides of a person that he/she cannot potray?
Not everyone were born skilled with brushes and
eyes keen to read the blotches on the paint.
Yet, colors will be, forever beautiful to me
Painted with meticulous details on those blank clothes,
someday I hope to find my stories.
Each strokes that has lost their way and fell into silence,
will only then fulfill their purpose
to guide their way to ‘a Nirvana’ that i had dreamt, all along.