How many times I stood <br />I like stand now <br />gazing into the mirror <br /> but I cannot paint that picture <br />You asked me to <br />Of that little girl I used to be <br />The blue of innocence, <br />Like kites in the sky <br />little princess <br />Your weakness. <br /> <br />How many ever times <br />I tried with the brush <br />In my trembling fingers <br />I could not find the right hues <br />the yellows of laughter <br />the abandoned brown <br />Of the my naked pains <br />The orange of the tears <br />The purples of failed love <br />The crimson of wandering lust. <br /> <br />Not once but I stood <br />Many a times liked you begged <br />Me to draw myself <br />in sketches, like a mother maybe <br /> The grays of the Wisdom <br />The red of the torn womb <br />The bronze of the bosom <br />The silver of the dreams <br />You bought for me <br />From near and far <br />Even the twinkle of the star, <br />Failed and left the mirror alone <br />But to return again and again, <br />Not to disappoint you my father <br />To paint my self portrait<br /><br />Reshma Ramesh<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/self-portrait-27/
