Feeds

We are all born painters, Gifted already with a palette of colours, How we utilise it and sprinkle them, On the blank canvas decided our fate, Angles to the stories sketched thus, Can’t be denied, like the same light, Falling on every piece of art, Still, making diverse shadows, Due to the positioning of the piece. When darkness befalls colours unite, Like us, basically the same, Starting and ending our lives in a dot, It’s the in-between which lives in our hands, Daub the tints as you wish but don’t forget, You too can't evade some splashes on yourself.

“O, let him be. Why do you always scold?” Ashu’s father always supported him while his mother was dead against his carefree approach to life. “You never know when times will change. We should always be prepared.” “He will learn with time.” … That day, on returning home, he found the bodies of his parents in a pool of blood. He was flabbergasted. He howled and cried. After some time he got up, wiped his tears, and jumped into action. He knew the murderers. … And, in one day the happy-go-lucky Ashu transformed into a sober and revenge-seeking man.

Like the water it flows, Taking the shape as it goes, That curve on the face, Moulded by our emotions and experiences, Definitely sets things right, A sanguine smile abundantly delivers. . Yet, there is the smile, Painted with negative tints, Betrayals and apathy, Carefully concealed behind, The widest grin ever seen. . We, adults are grey, Prone to saving our skin, Desperate for those million likes, Smiling frantically to win the world. While the innocent beings on this planet, Smile from within, and still rule. . Confuse, therefore not, The smile from genuine efforts With that forcibly generated.