My Lullaby

By Sanjita Banerjee

The canvas is smudged with multi hues,

The tips of my fingers match their tint;

But not a single complaint is spilled from my lips.

The reflection of my thoughts has come to life,

The rhythmic stroke of my paintbrush makes me alive.

The oeuvre of my work is my lullaby.

Lonely nights made my fingers ache to paint,

Harsh charcoal lines smoothed out to blend.

The eyes of the portrait make me feel compelled;

Pools of black with swirls of white drew me in,

Lost in abyss of darkness it reminds me of my lullaby.

The brush dipped in paint glides across the page,

The wetness of water imprints itself since.

The colours bloom wonderfully in front of me,

They take me back to the bouquet of flowers you gave.

The petals may have shed;

But the memory is the lyrics of my lullaby. 

Elegant fingers dance on piano keys,

The light from the window highlights him.

I can't do justice to the view in front of me,

In a mere piece of a blank sheet. 

The inadequacy of my talent doesn't disappoint me,

How could it ? 

When it was you who etched my lullaby. 

By Sanjita Banerjee