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I thought they were perfect.

Strokes of happiness.

Tales of love forever.

But I was wrong….

They were half-done

When the brush slipped.

Never to be picked up again.

My artist was gone…

I never knew, where.

I wish I weren’t

An unfinished painting ,

A toy in the hands of a mortal….


Priya Joyce said…
so much of pain...
Tulika said…
What shall I call it?
Somber eyes
Or unsketched face.

And it's

He loves me/ He loves me not !


My artist was gone…

Winces the very soul.!
Ria said…
Loved the way u have personified an unfinished painting. Pain at its zenith!
Pooja said…
so beautifully written!

loved this piece! :))
Thousif Raza said…
its beautiful... expresses as it should... :) loved it :)
Bikramjit said…
Sad... it is sad when things dont reach there goal or destination Really SAD
Life Unleashed said…
wonderful poem...u hav beautifully described da pain hidden in it
so touching! its so hard to pen down on somthing so intense, but you ahve done it magnificiently!
An Unfinished Painting
With its rough edges and dark secrets
Is so much more beautiful
Than a complete picture
That leaves little to imagination

You write well mate... keep at it...
darshan said…
amazing and beautiful man...!!!very well written.!!
Hemanth Potluri said…
lot of pain in the words sis..but beautifully framed..

Randeep said…
Dont worry. You'll get a better artist and he will resume it. :) Tc
joie de vivre said…
aise sad sad kyu likh rahi hai..i am not liking me up some smile..a big this :D
ANWESA said…
@Lil' Priya,
Thanks dear !
ANWESA said…

Yes,the soul winces.
ANWESA said…
Thanks dear !
ANWESA said…
Thanks a lot!
ANWESA said…
Thanks !
ANWESA said…
Yes,it is.
ANWESA said…
@Life unleashed,
Thanks for the compliment :)
ANWESA said…
Thank you !
ANWESA said…
@As the mind meanders,
That's how a viewer feels...think about the picture...
ANWESA said…
Thanks !
ANWESA said…
Thanks !!!
ANWESA said…
A new artist, a new painting.
Unfortunately a painting can have only one artist.
ANWESA said…
@The Peripatetic Nomad,
Thanks dear !!
an unfinished painting... a toy in the hands of a mortal...

the definition beauty of italian painter carlotti would have certainly qualified for this unfinished painting...

looking forward to more of such posts...
ANWESA said…

Thanks dude !

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I cannot remember my mother,
only sometime in the midst of my play
a tune seems to hover over my playthings,
the tune of some song that she used to
hum while rocking my cradle.

I cannot remember my mother
but when in the early autumn morning
the smell of the shiuli flowers floats in the air,
the scent of the morning service in the
temple comes to me as the scent of my mother.

I cannot remember my mother
only when from bedroom window
I send my eyes into the blue of the distant sky,
I feel that the stillness of my mother's gaze on my face
has spread all over the sky.

~Rabindranath Tagore
Note : This was one of  the earliest poems I read,loved and cherished.


Concealed by dark clouds
You keep shining.
Bright streaks of light
Dazzle me.
Enchant me.
And keep me waiting..
Waiting for you.

Amidst Soul-lessness

There is smoke somewhere. 
I cannot seem to figure out where. 
The lights are here, the music is here.
Has it been home here ?
Perhaps. Maybe when it did not rain.
Or maybe when it rained and it did not matter.
Maybe when I walked alone, smiling to myself. 
Or maybe when I realized I was okay.
Had it been always like this ?

Not really. 
Things clicked, took effort and blood. 
Did I do it ? Or the beasts did ? Maybe we both together,
Played this game. 
Amidst soulful solitude, it was love. 
Maybe appreciation.
Another journey, another dry spell. 
Will it ever be home again ? 

P.S. : Penned at Candies, Bandra on 11th January 2017