Poetry Painting

Waiting to be filled with colors
a white canvas stands on the tripod.
Waving off the uneasiness in the air
I snatch the brush to start the work.

Harsh realities paint a grey circle in the center.
I dry the paint on a hearth.
Gnawing emotions thrash the brush.
The line is broad.
Romance mixes the pastels in a sparkling goblet
and throw it on the board.
Joy sprinkles few fluorescent stars.
Philosophy takes a deep breath and sneezes on it.
Uncertainty waits awhile to draw a question mark.

I display the painting on my porch.

A kaleidoscope is placed on it.
Critics come to look through this.
Most of them leave shaking their heads,
“He needs a mentor.”