The Oil Painting

I went there during night with a floating cloud inside me. I don't remember the path but I always reach there.
That night it rained and the hot bricks smelled like earth. Raw.

Listening to the slow rain, I sat inside, clutching the arms around my legs. I had been thinking about the dark circles around those eyes, those kind and lazy eyes.

I had never seen such kind eyes before.
Rather I never knew there can be kindness in eyes. Those small slits into a whole another world.
Like slipping on a wet oil painting, I fell deep into them.
Those eyes freeze me every time and take away all the vapors inside me till I fly like a pollen.


When I woke up, it was sunny.
White lilies had bloomed around the corner. Lying on the floor I watched them up close.
I thought butterflies would fly around.

Later I went out and walked through the meadows. Around those many flies and crickets, the earth laid nude. It had already forgotten the night's rain.
I wished if I could also forget those eyes like that and be warm again. I wanted butterflies to fly around the lilies.

It never rained again and the eyes and the kindness inside them never went away.
Watching the finches and mynas I had walked long enough to lose my way.




Finally I could lose myself in that oil painting. Of the lilies and butterflies.