Saturday, December 31, 2011

Apparent Talent

That cobwebed easel in the corner,
The guitar that sits collecting dust,
Shears that lay abandoned in the mud,
she looks at them one by one
with eyes of want.
A talent, an apparent one,
the one to show off,
the one to celebrate,
to win laurels and all that.
She want one, one of those,
She sits on the floor,
staring at each of them,
wondering if they'll ever talk back.
She stops, picks up a pen and
writes her feelings off. 

PS : Thanks, M and Vishesh for making sure I write. 


Anonymous said...

I've been wanting the same thing! And you said it all in so few words.

Vyankatesh said...

Wonderful!! Full of hope!!

Renu said...

This was so good. I have wondered thus too.