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Sketching ,painting and colouring thedays of existence,
With a desire to brighten them
I filled in the wrong colours
Thinking to tear and renew, I stopped:
Some good combinations would be lost,
Deciding to amend few sketches,
I drew a tree flecked with birds
But i was sad:
I couldn't make them sing.
Frolicking around were few children
in my mind's masterpiece.
I couldn't hear their innocence
There was a temple in my potrait
Studded with ringing bells.
To dignify it i was selecting colours
When i realised,The greatest designer and painter
infusing life into His creation..
How could we say:
Life,its origin an unsolved mystery.
Disciples of the perfectionist
We are blinded towards our faults,
With the solemn powers vested in Him,
He could beautify his dull moves
Such is theintricacy of His work
That every masterpiece fails.
For the readers:technical here means in a brief or precise manner.
© 2014 Pallavi Bharati