Friday, June 7, 2013

Poem 234 - The Bench

Just looking around, out in the sun, when someone sits on me
Not the regular people, he's from out of town I do see
A board and brush in his hands, an artist I presume
And on me, to keep his paints, now he makes some room

He opens red, and paints something, I can't see as it's on his lap
He opens blue paint, and seems to forget to cover the red paint with its cap
 I try to imagine what he's painting as there are soft strokes on his board,
I don't know? Is it a building that he is painting? Or maybe it's a Ford?

 I didn't get much time to think, for the red paint spilled as his brush hit it accidentally
It was a surprise, but not much paint fell on me, fortunately
The artist took his paints and coolly he walked away 
But I was called 'The Red Spot Bench', from that day
~Gaurang Rao

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