My Brush With Life
Hey! What do you say, will my mom like it?
‘Oh! Why not? The colours are so vibrant, it looks exactly right.’
The dark pupils with blue border,
I feel it’s my personal creation, beautiful yet slender.
I should have used a lot more water,
Little did I know —the colour dries so much faster.
‘From where did you get all this paint my friend?’
I took it from the bucket near our neighbour’s fence.
A dark shady guy with tainted teeth,
Humming a tune and painting the sheet.
Each time my mom passed, he whistled a tune,
Mom looked angry and pale; he slyly smiled all through her frown.
Yesterday I heard her cry narrating her ordeal,
This guy made inappropriate advances, as if it’s no big deal.
Helpless she stood there not knowing what to do,
Dad’s dead doesn’t mean mom should suffer double the woe.
That very moment I decided to take a stand,
Nine I may be, but not a loose strand.
Hiding behind the tree from our yard,
Hurled a big stone that hit him hard.
Looking all around, he couldn’t see a thing,
Blood started to flow; he must’ve felt his brain fluids dripping.
He lay on the grass drenched in sweat, blood and tears,
Drifting in and out of consciousness; gasping with fear.
Believe me my friend, the minute turned to an hour,
Not a soul came to his rescue, except the ants who thought its a ‘Fair’.
Standing all by myself, right behind the tree,
A thought passed “May be he will die, what cruelty!”
Sadness loomed for a moment, then mom’s face flashed before me,
May be this wretch will die, but mom will have one less problem to worry.
What I saw next just blew me away,
Mom came running seeing the dying guy.
I thought “Has she lost her mind,
Why help the one who put her through such grind?”
She shouted the loudest cry for help since my father’s death.
“The man’s dying, please help before he sighs his last breath.”
Hearing her voice came many more people,
Took him to the hospital, but I saw many of them giggle.
“Divine justice is there for sure! This person got what he deserved.
Shame on this fellow, look at his fate; his saviour is the one whom he thought helpless and reserved.”
They all praised my mom a ton,
But she was just happy saving someone’s son.
Amidst that chaos, I lifted the half spilled bucket from the corner,
Painted to my heart’s content, the beauty you see right here.
My loving mom, my hero, the dearest to me of all,
Fragile and meek, but when life turns harsh, she is the one who always stands Tall.
Though unpunished and immature, it was a mistake on my part to harm another,
Mom’s a wonder woman, albeit unknowingly; she taught me by example not by lecture.
Early in my life, I have learnt a big lesson,
This portrait of hers is my silent appreciation.
“Fear breeds hatred, hatred breeds anger,
But compassion breeds strength and the strong is always the Saviour.”
“Any day a brush is far better than a stone,
A stone may be easy to throw, but a creative art is always more fun.”
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