One day I sat back 
In a room on a warm pack 
Held up the canvas to make an art piece 
Took out my colours not just a black n white feast 
This time I knew it's gonna be different
As.... I was a resident of my persona , not just a mere immigrant
This time I knew it will last 
No matter the ups and downs I know they'll past 
With a newfound joy and unraveling desire
I started inking as if my pen was on fire 
But....all I could draw was a face of my own 
A sleek smile with gleaming eyes unbeknown 
Serene eyes and a calm face 
Depicting the state of my inner pace 
As soon as I finished 
I held it up high....astonished 
The canvas wasn't wet 
My hands weren't trembling
I'd grown up in a unique design 
And now I knew my mind was really mine 
Ashlesha Dubey 
                                
                                    
                                
                                  
                                  
                                    
                                      
                                      
                                    
                                  
                                 
                                
                                
                                  
                                  Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
                                 
                               
                              
                                      
                                          
                                  
                                              YOU ARE READING
Trembling Hands Wet Canvas
PoetryWounds heal but scars remain , Time passes fast , what goes slow is pain. Sailing in sea alone in the boat , Sound to the agony , in the words coat Dig in.... And you won't regret !
                                          