The Unfinished Painting

A form of substance it starts from,
The mixture divines which compels to come,
A creature such made so crisp,
We take its care to the core even when it whines.
Walks a bit and on the ring bells he runs,
With coming days responsibilities occur,
Days of childhood he cannot understand,
Miss he will the precious moments clamped.
A time of joy, the power to destroy,
Loves he all and gets loved by many,
Gets he one the most precious pearl though late,
Appreciates he not, due to relations so stray.
When senses he gains, his mind makes him drain,
Works he a lot, just to make it up to the clock,
The holy knot of Life he faces at the perfect tick,
These are the one’s which remain forever with a click.
The stable wrath of experiences he treasures like a king,
A mitigated lens filled with memories unclad,
The slog of the age makes him crawl the thorns,
Leaves he the substance and eternity evolves.
The canvas of existence is in supreme’s hand,
The strokes of brush with so many colors though,
A moment when the possibility to rub again and start,
A decade lost and the undisturbed prosaic at last.

5 Comments, RSS

  1. Ankita Patel May 22, 2012 @ 4:28 pm

    I just love d words u pick! poise. perfect. poetic. 🙂

  2. Aditi May 22, 2012 @ 5:04 pm

    I'm speechless ashu ji…. it is just so amazingly b'ful… i loved each line and each word… It took time to sink in… but then it is so deep…

  3. Ashwin D May 23, 2012 @ 6:05 am

    Thank you Anki 🙂

    Adi thank you so much for reading and appreciating buddy 🙂

  4. Sunny Parampil May 23, 2012 @ 7:16 am

    You made colourful strokes come to life… beautifully written 🙂

  5. Abhijeet May 23, 2012 @ 11:11 am

    flow gets even towards the end, the struggle, is experienced. very good.

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