Every hue and colour spilled through the floor

As his tiny hand mover across the sheet

As the paper mirrored his mind more and more

Containing his excitement was an unachievable feat

Hence to his mother, trotted the little child

And his masterpiece did he proudly display

Awaiting the mother’s praise, his joy ran wild

As he longed for the ‘attaboy’s coming his way

The mother picked the paper and said,

“Oh’ my boy, what you drew is wrong,

Clouds and stars do not comprise your bed

Wherefore for this, did you spend so long?”

The boy took back his sheet and put it away

And spilled out his pencils once more

And drew and drew through the whole day

And onto the paper, his soul did he pour

The mother once again picked the sheet and replied

“Oh boy, once again, what you drew isn’t true

Wherefore do you have dragons flying beside?

And wherefore is the sky yellow not blue?”

The boy took his paper and left to his room

And came back the next day to pick up his art

Once again, on his paper, he made his hues bloom

And once again on his paper, his poured out his heart

Once again, his mother found some false

That the stars were green and the lakes were pink

That his art shouldn’t have any walking dolls

Hence once again did the child’s heart sink

Day after day, he got his artworks anew

And day after day, some fault was found

As the days turned to years, the little boy grew

And the colours slipped his fingers as he aged time bound

One day, once more, his colours he chose

May be to look back and revisit his boyish mind

But he couldn’t open the colours he himself shut close

Thus even a single spark of hue, he couldn’t find

No matter what, the paper never touched the ink

The paper remained to rot as a clean state

When did he stop? He tried to think

Yet he couldn’t recall what caused this state

Amongst all the tragedies the world had seen

This one went by, without reaching any ear

The most imaginative of minds was wiped clean

And no sign of creativity was left here

The little boy who with colours, could never part

The little boy who drew through night and day

The little boy who felt joy in his colourful art

Grew up to see those very colours wither away