the portrait

The portrait

--By Neeti

My mom is an artist

she has painted all her life

We grew surrounded with canvas and paints

And brushes , easels , painting knives

So when I was six and boisterous

I went to her and said in glee

You paint horses and mountains

Why wouldn’t you paint good ol’me ?

Sweet my mommy set out on the task

And I put on my favourite little dress

Tightly braided my mad curly hair

And sat still in much duress

And I sat and smiled and posed

But it seemed just so so long

Bottling up my six year old’s energy

As my mom laboured on

She seemed troubled and perplexed

What she’d drawn made her unhappy

But when I checked it seemed fine

The figure on the canvas did look like me

Mommy said- baby , there is a problem

Without your ears ,it just isn’t you

But as soon as I paint them on

It looks like something from a zoo

After the shock of her own honesty

Mom said -my sweetheart ...alas

Your beauty , your magic , your awesomeness

Just cannot be caught on oil and canvas

I thought she was right , I believed her

And luckily six year olds have a lot to do

Mom also painted over the picture

A dusky landscape with a greyish hue

It’s been more than thirty years

That painting was long gifted away

And out of the blue ,today I thought of it

I remember it like it was yesterday

Now I can’t help wondering eerily

Somewhere in someone’s place

Under a weathered painted windmill

Lies my half painted earless six year old face !!!!

*Artwork- Neeti