Sunday, October 25, 2009

Painter and Scout The Waiter

By Gaurav Parab

May I help you the man next to me says

I can tell you about the world and its ways

I smile, and I signal to the waiter everyone calls Scout

I raise my eyes, who is the joker and what is he talking about

The joker next to me picks my question and replies

It is funny young man, how time flies

Do you know I used to paint, and it is true

And some of them sold for a million or two

I raise my glass and my eyebrow as well

I love it when old men have stories to tell

You say some years ago, what happened Sir

Is it something else, you now prefer?

Three women happened, if you must know

He touches his cap and takes a little bow

Number one and two loved, three had a heart a little impure

All of the them loved me at some time I am sure

I fiercely loved them back like a rescue out of reach

But I also loved the colors inside my house by the beach

So, I painted them all one by one

Sometimes I painted them together, but not for fun

Together? I am shocked and it shows

He laughs, amusing is not the pain I chose

Young man, they didn’t know who I was painting

Each in her way found some canvas entertaining

Each thought that each painting was only her’s

How can a painter explains how life blurs?

Life forced me to move from one to another

Closer to one, from the second further

Each painting I drew ever since

Of the earth or some out of luck prince

I was accused by the most brilliant of them

Of stealing light from a stolen gem

My silence screamed that everything is not about you!

I paid the price of what you never knew but was due

Can I draw a tree, which is simply a tree?

You chain me, by chaining yourself to a painter like me

So I painted it so loud and clear

Please don’t love me any longer my dear

I loved you, and I will love you still

Inserting colors through a blunt drill

Forgive me if I paint random pictures my dear

It is only the missing colors that I fear

The old man then says, Son now I have to go

Your hands tell me you paint, so do say hello

To whatever you dream about and boldly draw

Tell her about what it is, and what you saw

And if you were to ever stop painting my friend

Tell them you never meant to offend

And do warn some young man years later

When he signals to Scout the old waiter

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1 comment:

Anonymous said...

This is so much better than the drivel you put up about Obama and shi*. There are times when you take it to another level like this one.

I can so picture you sitting back with an arrogant and satisfied smirk on your face. Narcissist you are. But I adore that - especially since you can create this type of beautiful thing.

Keep writing old man.