Standing nearby the tree I weep as I bring out my new brush,
It gives me an edge to paint thy hush,
Wiping those emotions I try to play with those colors,
They are prepared..
Seasons come and go, I am lost in the art,
Capturing every minute detail in the sand, on the cart,
Sob, Sigh, Silent Cries, I stand up again at the dawn apart,
Nothing can move me I believed..
Dark and Light, Colors make me feel my existence,
A kind of exile in those strokes so subtle, I reminisce the experience,
Broken down the brush feels and the colors too, the canvas consoles,
Stand up I owe you the world’s blow..
Winds destroyed my sheets,
Sun rays burnt my thoughts with heat,
Snow and the freeze,
Rains they made me discreet..
Nothing ruined my perseverance for a gifted talent I was,
For the fame, is everyone curious we know,
So I painted nothing but me on the canvas at my best,
What I found, I remained unsold..