When the night darkens
On my terrace sky
And slumber aborts
My tired eyes..
When moon and star
Of very very far
Fail to transmit solace
I pick my dusted brush
And dip it on my
Dwindling paint..
Palettes half cracked
But holds the hues still..
I paint a butterfly..
Strokes imperfect
Hand tremble..
I fear.. when done..
It may spread and fly off..
Like my love..
Which evaporates
Long before its full..
My faded colors...
Smothered brush..
Cracked Palette..
All stay a witness..
To my struggle of
Finished canvas on
An unfinished night !
~Manjuri~
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