Slow & Steady Poem by Sumita Jetley

In a bustling town, young Arif raced,
From dawn to dusk, no moment faced.
One sunny day, by market's light,
He saw a man whose pace was right.

Mr. Faisal, with brush in hand,
Moved slow and sure as time's own sand.
'Why paint so slow? ' Arif did ask,
'Wouldn't quick work complete your task? '

'With haste, ' said Faisal with a smile,
'You see much, yet miss by a mile.
Each stroke I paint, each color's blend,
Tells a story from start to end.'

Curious, Arif tried his hand,
With quick strokes that he had planned.
'Slow down, ' urged Faisal, 'let it flow,
See the beauty, let it grow.'

Brush by brush and stroke by stroke,
Arif slowed, the spell awoke.
In every line, a story told,
In every color, bold yet cold.

He learned to see, to truly view,
The world in hues of varied hue.
From rushing boy to thoughtful lad,
In moments dear and moments glad.

By doing less, he felt much more,
In every task, from core to shore.
And in his heart, a truth did find,
Peace comes slow, to the patient mind.