Paint me blue

They say, a picture is worth a thousand words;
And so I try to paint the stories in my head;
But I happen on an impediment;
I know not what colours would paint the rain!

 

So I frantically look high and low;
I search for the colours of my emotions;
The colours of my feelings;
And the residual colours of courage;
But blue is the only colour I find.

 

For, none of the shades made my painting realistic:
Not the brightest of reds,
Could reflect my burning agonies;
Nor the bright yellows or whites,
Could convey my grimace of pain;
And even the darkest of blacks,
Couldn’t paint my despair and desolation;
And so all I was left with, were the shades of blue!

 

So I decide to exert myself to still paint a rosy picture,
With the only blues I have,
And I start trying to sketch an outline to fill,
But alas, I fail!
For, everything is so hazy, blurry and so not still.

 

Still not giving up on the painting, I find myself
Stippling, scumbling and hatching;
In the hope that I can later define the lines.
But all that I manage,
Are broken ones, fraught without hope.

 

This misplaced smudge of blues,
What I perfidiously portray as modern art,
Who would want such a piece of work?
Maybe it’ll just be tucked away, forsaken, gathering dust!
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