The Painting

A piece of vivid white paper

And a set of bottles of acrylic colour.

A new brush, set in front of the protagonist

A story to be painted for the pallor.

Each drop of colour, that falls on the new paper,

Each telling a time, different in nature,

But blooming into the new personality itself

A story built, for the story of ourselves.

A yellow, for the happiness to be enjoyed,

An oceanic blue, for the simplicity to unfold,

A treacherous red, showing factions of anger,

Again, a soft green, for the innocence unseen.

Then falls the intermission, for a colour to be sent

The decision, amidst snowy white and onyx black.

Plain white; upholding the newness of age,

Making the character a wall against the dark chronological rage.

But those, painting black on the paper

Shift to a new place; gloomier, deeper.

For that story takes a turn to a darker hue,

Destroying all colours, blocking all emotions in you.

Black bears no hue, yes, that is true

It can't be exchanged, but can be painted over

For a new tint to form, thus creating a new world

Of shades of colour, shades of character.

Thus the story gets bigger and wider as its shades,

A whole new painting, a world full of amaze.

And one day, when the painting has no blank place to be coloured,

You finally can hang the painted picture on your wall.

Your painting ends, but a new one begins.

The writer is a class 7 student at Dhaka Residential Model College