From a Mother Who Left Her Creation Unfinihed……

brushI started portraying with brushes and colors.

Sitting in front of the white canvas

I wove the thread of my imagination..

With each stroke I was measuring

If the chin looks much broader

Or the neck should be thinner..

The eyes should be such

That they would be staring at me with penetrating sights

As if apprehending what is inside..

The smile should be such

Which would make me forget

All my sorrows and pangs..

So wonderful it was to feel

A mere structure would gain life

With the touches of my hands..

My own creation

My pride..

I couldn’t recall when I fell asleep.

A hazy image of face

Haunted me even in my sleep.

I woke up with the rumbling sound

It’s storming terribly outside

Everything is getting scattered with the gushes of wind.

I ran to the canvas, standing beside the window

All the colors have been washed away

With the splashes of rain..

The hazy face has become hazier

My thread of imagination has been torn

Something hard has come up to choke my throat.

There stands my incomplete dream, my unattended pride

There stands my unfinished creation……


7 thoughts on “From a Mother Who Left Her Creation Unfinihed……

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