She will remember how every evening
her father helped her paint, while
Mumma prepared her favorite dishes
Just as her father remembers her exuberant
voice, returning from school
with yet another prized drawing.
Unable even to see her precious face,
he lamented the darkness in his life
It was Rainbows in the Sky
they always or never drew together.
3 comments:
Honestly, I wasn’t expecting this poem as a response to this particular picture. I thought it would be some other one, but as much as I like the poem and the photograph, I also like how they gel well together. Lovely poem, Face, with poignancy and childhood nostalgia.
lost in memories, I try to catch the happy times from the past. But it doesn't matter how much I try, no one has been able to catch the wind.. It is time to feel the breeze and move ahead, and the colors are still there for me to add.
Emotions have their own colors. Well painted.
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