Canvas

My colour palette, rusted now

Crying out my crushed dreams, the dust on it mocks at me

I wonder where I had misplaced my dreams

I search for them in turmoil

No more in my sight they are.

I rummage under the pillows, between the books

Lazily sleeping, I find them

On the blank white sheets

On the unsharpened pencils

On the ink clogged pens

I speak to them

Give me a reason and I’ll gift you poetry

Touch my heart and I’ll write verses about you

Make me smile and I’ll turn you immortal

My paint brushes, sticky with paint

Yearn to kiss the canvas

All I need is to pick them up

I walk away instead

Waiting for my heart to be touched

My lips to smile, to be presented with a reason

To paint again I shall need to wait

The wait will end, I hope

Before all the colours dry away

And then the canvas shall be kissed again

And the magic shall be recreated

I wait to pick up the brushes again.