There was a painting I had seen
few years back in the fine arts' gallery.
A portrait of a village girl,
With straw bundles on her head.
The golden rays of dusk
caressed her arms and legs.
The rough wind of autumn
Threw her hair over her face.
I see that painting everyday in my study.
But the colors have faded,
The girl looks more tired every day.
No wonder it was full of life
When I had put it on the wall.
But it looks lifeless now,
Like all other paintings here.
Lifeless as the thoughts
That die every day in this study.
YOU ARE READING
Pen Points and Paper Boats
Poetry"Day by day I float my paper boats one by one down the running stream. In big black letters I write my name on them and the name of the village where I live. I hope that someone in some strange land will find them and know who I am...." [Rab...
