A Picture Painted On The Cluttered Canvas Of My Mind Poem by Renu Beri

Embossed on the cluttered canvas of my mind
Is a man unknown and seen only once,
Not a famous politician or a popular artist,
Neither a playboy nor a handsome brat,
Yet, a romance kindled that eventful day
Which remained with me throughout my life.

At the thresh hold of impressionable age,
Seated at the window of my colourful room,
Watching people go about their business
Like mice scurrying in all directions,
I sighted a figure turning the corner,
And coming directly into my full view,
My gushing heart missed a beat, and
I fell in love with a complete stranger.

An exceptionally well-built young man,
Of medium height and sharp features,
An apparition of dignity and confidence.
A woodcutter, I presumed; noticing
The axe resting against his shoulder.
The distance he had to cover was short.
Turning another sharp corner at the left
He disappeared from my sight forever.

My damp forehead and throbbing heart,
Were a sign of the impression on me,
For a long time I sat glued to my seat,
Unaware of the noise and the crowds,
Only thinking about the man I had seen.

A woodcutter from the high mountains,
Come for unknown reason to the plains,
Unable to put aside the axe, dear to him
He carried it along wherever he went,
It gave him the confidence of a provider.

My overworking imagination ran amok
I pictured that he had a pretty wife,
A natural beauty, not a cosmetic one,
His many children running around him,
When he returned after a hard day at work
To a tiny hut lit by glowing embers,
And the love that was ever alive in it.
Oh! The beautiful, creative urge of mine.

My love for him has endured a life-time.
I spent my life well within social norms,
But I often relived the moment I saw him,
And secretly wondered how he was faring,
As if he were someone very dear to me.

Retired and having more time at my hands,
I frequently think of the image, of the sudden
Appearance of a man at the corner of the road,
(The image, I believe, beautifies with time)
Being one of the well kept secrets of my life,
It always gives me pleasure and excitement.

My love has not been one of possession,
No physical passion or lustful longing,
I actually fell in love with the magic created,
It gave me the opportunity to think of the life
Of a simple man, happy in the dignity of his labour,
Love for the mysterious life he led, a romance
Around which I could weave a colourful tapestry,
Contrasting with my own dull, plain fabric.

He, I’m sure, is not even aware of my existence.