The Silver-line painter is on leave today
He has decided not to wake up til noon,
That is, at least.
And its already very late!
Do not knock the door, he instructed.
No tea for him, please!
He will not need a shower this morning.
The cloud is nervous to venture out.
Isnt he irresponsible? This silver-line painter!?
It is ridiculous that he refuses to do his job any more!
What does he think of himself!
the cloud muses....
What if nobody looks at her?
What if her beautiful form gets completely missed without those lines?
All these just because a painter changes his mind on fine morning!
Why?! She could not fathom.
"Not that I care", she thought to herself.
"Well! I have never cared for what anyone thought about my looks. Ever"
She said, while checking her reflections in the slender mirror of the river.
She pinched her knotted brows apart.
The situation is creating more stress than she thought it would.
Are the lines really that important?
The dark skin gets darker with the shadow of her worries.
She looks even more beautiful!
The painter tosses and turns,
Wakes up and sleeps again.
The bed seems his tomb for the day.
A tomb covered with grass
The cold, green grass that he longed for
And probably the dew drops too....
No! of course not the dew drops!
Are you out of your mind!?
Isn't it enough that he can laze in the grass, finally?
The painter contemplated a change in profession, half asleep.
As he was not fully awake, he was still allowed a dream,
And could still avoid being called a day-dreamer!
"May be a cook, what say!"
"I can then take refuge in a warm kitchen
A kitchen with a solid roof and no windows.
I will keep it lighted, myself.
The cloud can find me no more.
But then the air will also not find me, right?"
"Can I be a pot-maker, instead?", he thought.
It can not be too different from being a painter.
"I drew beautiful, bright lines anyway", he thought
The pots that will hold the dew drops of my dreams and turn them into precious water and help me survive", he murmured.
But will the cloud agree? Will she make way?
Will she budge?
The day begins to end..
The cloud continues to sit right above the painter's head,
She has no plan to budge!
She waits for another day, patiently.
For the mood to change.
For the painter to agree again to go back to his job...
Her form can not be compromised!
The lines have to be drawn.
The painter begins to worry
It seems the day would end in rain!
He has decided not to wake up til noon,
That is, at least.
And its already very late!
Do not knock the door, he instructed.
No tea for him, please!
He will not need a shower this morning.
The cloud is nervous to venture out.
Isnt he irresponsible? This silver-line painter!?
It is ridiculous that he refuses to do his job any more!
What does he think of himself!
the cloud muses....
What if nobody looks at her?
What if her beautiful form gets completely missed without those lines?
All these just because a painter changes his mind on fine morning!
Why?! She could not fathom.
"Not that I care", she thought to herself.
"Well! I have never cared for what anyone thought about my looks. Ever"
She said, while checking her reflections in the slender mirror of the river.
She pinched her knotted brows apart.
The situation is creating more stress than she thought it would.
Are the lines really that important?
The dark skin gets darker with the shadow of her worries.
She looks even more beautiful!
The painter tosses and turns,
Wakes up and sleeps again.
The bed seems his tomb for the day.
A tomb covered with grass
The cold, green grass that he longed for
And probably the dew drops too....
No! of course not the dew drops!
Are you out of your mind!?
Isn't it enough that he can laze in the grass, finally?
The painter contemplated a change in profession, half asleep.
As he was not fully awake, he was still allowed a dream,
And could still avoid being called a day-dreamer!
"May be a cook, what say!"
"I can then take refuge in a warm kitchen
A kitchen with a solid roof and no windows.
I will keep it lighted, myself.
The cloud can find me no more.
But then the air will also not find me, right?"
"Can I be a pot-maker, instead?", he thought.
It can not be too different from being a painter.
"I drew beautiful, bright lines anyway", he thought
The pots that will hold the dew drops of my dreams and turn them into precious water and help me survive", he murmured.
But will the cloud agree? Will she make way?
Will she budge?
The day begins to end..
The cloud continues to sit right above the painter's head,
She has no plan to budge!
She waits for another day, patiently.
For the mood to change.
For the painter to agree again to go back to his job...
Her form can not be compromised!
The lines have to be drawn.
The painter begins to worry
It seems the day would end in rain!
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