Painted Sunsets
I sit with my tools. Assortment of brushes, canvasses, colours, apron, water, the works… I sit and I stare. Continously, at the blank canvas. Let me paint something. Oh please let me…
But the canvas is still blank. I can’t much move my hand. Can’t bring it to the canvas. Whats wrong with me? It feels as if im drowning in a sea of inability, in the throes of indifference. Im falling with the dead weight of a guilty pleasure that I never enjoyed. Pulled down by the million cries that only I can hear. The cries that come from within me…
The colours begin to wash out. Bit by bit, they fade. Until nothing but an ugly stain remains. A stain that could have been beautiful, colourful. One that could have been something. But isn’t now. Because I was too tired. Broken.
I can paint the sunset. Always wanted to. But my arms fail me. My hands dont move much. I can paint anything the world wants to see. But I can’t. And then how do you paint the tears behing a smiling face. Or the tears that a broken heart bleeds. Its difficult. Really difficult. And I’m so tired. I can’t paint that broken trust that hurts my eyes like broken shards of glass. I sit and stare. At the blank canvas… and then it comes to me…
I can’t paint. I never learnt how to…
- Neha
Tags: paint
david raphael israel says:
As metaphor, it reads well enough. The pathetic conclusion’s sense of lyric tragedy . . . well the prose pushes into poetry in several pushes, and this one pulls it through.
Were it taken as literal narrative, I’d reply: just mess around! Particularly with oilpaints, there’s instant enjoyment. One doesn’t need to wait till a picture is achieve, an image is limned. As soon as the colors spread on the canvas, the colors themselves carry happiness.
So there’s a counter-thought.
But the dirge of your tale is not unfamiliar.
cheers,
d.i.
February 25th, 2006 at 10:29 pm
Kunal Goel says:
David I love your comments!
February 25th, 2006 at 11:08 pm
Avik Chakravarty says:
***speechless***
February 26th, 2006 at 01:12 am