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A Portrait Painted

By Nincy Mariam Mondly


A beautiful painting on canvas, she was.

In front of the mirror, where the easel stood

her eyes met herself, only herself.



Draped around her shoulders, a scarf in blue,

as though clothed by the ocean,

she wondered;

What did the rest of her dress make her look like?

The midtones of her spotless skin made her curious,

Would a mole at the right spot turn into one of beauty?

And what if her satiny hair, tied up in a bun,

Was let loose to curl up beside her ears?






Thinking of every way, she could be not she,

her eyes fell upon the brush clipped on the easel.

What if she could paint herself,

her thoughts dared;

For, at hand's reach, hasn't the creator left the brush?



From the floor it had crashed onto, the painting he lifted.

The colours, now, smeared against each other;

the black of her eyes, smudged down as though with tears,

her clothes soiled as though with dirt.



The bristles of the brush felt like flames, this time

as new colours made their way

while old ones turned golden.


Once again she found herself before the mirror,

to see a phoenix that was

rising from the ashes.

Finally her eyes meet the creator's.


By Nincy Mariam Mondly





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