Living Art

The painting that I once had in my living room,

Was now broken into the tiniest colorful pieces

By the woman on the wheelchair who called herself

My ‘stepmother.’

The walls are like a sea,

Colorless and full of pale faces.

I wanted to visit my house again,

To be able to look at my broken painting.

The gift that was given by my father.

I wanted to re-live those thrilled moments,

Where all I saw was happy faces.

I wanted to be written in the book of memories,

Like every day was meaningful

Until I remembered the same painting.

Copyright © Latikaa Sareen