Not Really About Painting.

You have this fresh sheet
You hope to make your masterpiece
When you check, the materials seem all right
So you grow confident that it might come together in the very first try
You make and you make
More than that you erase
Because the lines won't join
They don't bend
They don't curve
They run out of control
Change direction
You learn to grow more patient
The page becomes a big mess
Too thick and too thin
Just too much variation
So you tear it off and start afresh
With sharpened pencils and bigger oil pastels
Much to your chagrin the picture still doesn't appear
For the previous page has left behind too many impressions
Admitting you need help you ask a friend
Whose skills are commendable and they are so far ahead
To make it easy on you
They make the dots
"Oh just join them and then you're sorted out"
Again you try with your fullest concentration
It starts beautifully
And you are about to finish it
Laughably that's when you decide to dip your brush in black
And all the colours are now indistinguishable
They've mixed and merged,
Struggled but ultimately succumbed
The paper just a mess of wet black lumps.
Tired of starting over
You try to salvage it
Give it some form
All that practice hasn't yet made you an artist
Your brush just succeeds in further distorting those lumps
The years you invested seem now to be a waste
The brush too seems to have fulfilled its purpose
This leaves you with the biggest question of all -
How to destroy that black monster you've created?

PS - Whenever I end a post like this, it seems like awkward silence to me. So I will just like talk for a bit. I always wanted to do thisss! Like write something and be like no bro I was talking about something else. Haha. I think I've paid too much attention to literature classes in school. Anyway, I will post again at night. I hope I will have something positive to say. Till then. :D

Update - Yes, I forgot to add it in yesterday but I finally did something I was scared to do that day. ^_^