The Painter

Gently wending his way through the slush,
Carrying that woody and bristled brush,
Unlocks the door with a rusted key,
Putting in place that well earned fee,

His hobby is his everyday work,
For his talent had no dearth,
He started off with making sketches,
Trying as much as his mind stretches,

His sketches were nothing extravagant,
Though his working would never relent,
But he found out how to make it better,
It was when he started using his colour,

The improvement was beginning to tell,
His handiwork had now started to sell,
Though the sum earned was modest,
He was happy that it was honest,

He painted walls that were alongside the rail,
Completing work was where he wouldn't fail,
The everyday struggle had not changed,
Some minutiae were now better arranged,

The paint and varnish had now taken a toll,
The hands looked squalid like smeared coal,
He could care less for them to look clean,
For him, it was all about living his dream.

                                                 - Rajmohan Yadav