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The Painter

Day 3: 3rd April 2015 NAPOWRIMO

 

The Painter

 

The lines of his forehead furrows deeper

As his brush strikes the paper, like a sword,

Making it bleed colours, making it surrender to his art.

I quietly watch him from the window,

Scared of disturbing the creation.

Suddenly he rises and and leaves the room.

The half smoked cigarette on the counter, emits smoke

Coiling up in the air

He comes back in again, oblivious

Of my little face peering through the window

He gets back to his art

Now with renewed passion.

The lines on his forehead smoothens out,

With final stokes of his brush, he finishes his liquid poetry,

I stand at a distance, admiring the man, the art.

 

The lines on his forehead, deepens again,

As he picks up another blank paper,

This time I summon courage and walk into his room.

He looks up, disturbed, he says

“What do you want child?’

‘To paint’ I say ‘Like you’ I add

‘Well you can’t’ He says,

My face falls, and he laughs.

Handing me a paper and brush he adds

‘You can paint, but only like yourself, and not like me.’

Happiness floods my being, I add with laughter

‘When can I start?’

‘Now’ he says, ‘Now is always a good time,’

‘Thank you Baba’ I say, and sit down next to him.

The painter and his daughter,

We continue together, he with his masterpiece

And me, with my first of many.

 

My Baba is a Doctor by profession, but a painter by passion. He has had 11 solo exhibition of paintings at the Academy of Fine arts, Kolkata and also several collaborated ones. This poem is dedicated to him, my hero, my idol, my faith, My BABA.

You can find some of his works in the following link.Sankar Chatterjee Paintings

Sankar Chatterjee Paintings

Sankar Chatterjee Paintings

 

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2 comments on “The Painter

  1. Beautiful! Absolutely loved it. So effortlessly emotive

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