By Prateek Nayak
I was never good at drawing,
All I did was paint, indeed colors spoke louder than lines.
Lines were bold and dark, strokes did out-spark,
But low I felt cause not so bold were my steps.
Choosing colors was a decision too wise,
I had a color for every emotion inside.
Memories of line still haunted my brush,
What is the shades made color fade ?
But I carried...
Colorful, beautiful were the words that graced them.
Its time the world too applaud them.
I showcased my colors, my paints.
Oh yes ! They applauded in the same, but words do faint.
Sooner, I realized not many like all the colors.
Infectious are thoughts and biased became my shots.
I chose colors but with perceptions,
Thoughts overpowered emotions.
As biased as I was ever, choice became a thought process forever.
Started loosing the colors,the trust they had over my brush.
And so I started loosing my touch.
Lines haunted, brush bore the face black painted.
Colors provided a dirty picture, messed up it all felt.
No more beautiful were the paints, in horror I threw the palette over paine.
The broken palette and the ill paints always make me say...
I was never good at drawing or imitating things.
All I did was paint and make things colorful, before i broke my palette !
Before i broke my palette....
