A young child,
came to his grandmother and sweetly smiled,
with hands turned in question styled,
With colours he was masked,
in his innocence he asked,
In the big blue sky, why the clouds are so white,
is there a comic, with dialogues still to write?
I also saw a rainbow there,
a river of colours with endless flow,
but i have no paint brush so long,
or i could have written a colourful song,
Oh my granny,
the clouds are moving here and there,
why still untouched, why still so clear,
Replied the old lady
It is a magic canvas my dear child,
your imagination is a paintbrush,
let it go wild,
the rainbow is a pool of colours for all.
anything you colour, clouds clear it with rainfall.
clean and fresh, just like new,
to be coloured again by another few,
the disappointed child said,
then how to show others what I drew,
and what others made, i’ll have no clue,
The grandmother replied:
Keep on painting and draw your best,
for the blue sky saves all in his big chest.
The young eyes sparked and he smiled,
he had an idea which needed to be unpiled.
Gurnam Singh Sodhi
5th November, 2012