It’s been years for colours on
the painted walls,
So thick & deep, layered,
didn't peel off;
Albeit in incessant dust &
rains & scorching heat,
Layer another, grimy; but
colours never gone.
Artefacts many within that
reverberate time,
If scrubbed, and if it with new
deluged;
Alas so thick; shalt leave its scars,
Would one want to carry such,
alike on moon?
A paper on wall with printed shades,
Or glimmering what on ceiling
that brighten sulking nights;
Or reflection of counterfeit waves on it,
Would mere conceal or shadowed by lights?
A day then colours eventually, cleansed,
Till no more path is seen of rabbit’s hole;
And brushed with the hue of pastel shades,
No time is constrained then,
nor an artist's role. :)
© Pranav Chaturvedi 2022