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Colour Story Of Bonfires
Folder:
Connubial Gautom
Studied in Darjeeling
Went to school, North Point Boarding
The only son of a respectable man
Chief Executive; Marketing
Affectionately known
As Tom.
One day -- Tom's father
Irked, as he came home from a work tour.
Found his son; Clad in a torn shirt
a button; Missing.
Raising voice, he complained to his wife
That she had no time for the children
busy with her own; Paintings.
Self interest first;
On real duties; No priorities set;
Thereby the actual; Neglecting.
Tom's mother, was a gifted woman
Pretty, accomplished, meritorious like my mom.
I called her aunt and
Tom's father uncle. Uncle was a handsome man
Strangely, my father, he did resemble, excepting
For his light green eyes.
Uncle was so cross that day
Decided on spot to send Tom away --
To a hostel. My aunt was so hurt.
It was just a solitary button missing from Tom's shirt.
"She wasn't paying attention?"
"So trivial, her art, that she was a woman?"
Tom was her son and she knew the difference
Between the right and the wrong
But when the father decided alone
Let his wish be fulfilled; Followed.
Quietly, the same day, she took all her pain,
unfinished canvas, paintbrushes, paintings,
and sketch pen, pencil, colour tubes,
put them in a cardboard box --
Headed for the garden outdoors.
Reaching the corner
Perched, the same
on top of a heaped dry leaves, mound
collected, to prepare bio fertiliser for gardening.
Woman, thereafter she never was the same. Litmus test, succeeding?
A tiny matchstick she struck, torching up a blazing flame.
The fire glowed, rich, luminous;
Gaining from her art, all colours and paint --
Bonfire incandescent
Brilliant, iridescent -- exciting.
"That's how all the fire that burn, irradiate not
only auburn but yellow blue orange green .."
Aunt, uncle, their youngest daughter, live now in
Sae Baba's ashram and young Tom, married, has a son.
At present; How to use a paintbrush and set aglow canvas; Busy learning
Grandmother's art is the talented daughter of elder sister; Tom's.
Wow. That's beautiful. I can see the image of her hope going up in flames, the ignition of pain. This poem is extrememly good. Thank you.
Why are women like that? So self-destructive as passive agressiveness. Uncle was wrong. A marriage man and woman become one flesh meaning they are equal. He was wrong for deciding on his own, but she was wrong for accepting subserviance. The symbology is great and all kinds of things may be inferred from this. It is sad that someone that professes to love another would want or require them to give up something they love for an idiot's comment.
Hugs and Peace
Huck
HK