I had always been a person,
Who when lacked in perfection,
Was in dismay,
And grouchy for days,
With no space for mistakes or revisions.
One small thing out of place,
Made me feel completely disgraced,
Trying to perfect,
More things got wrecked,
No matter what, just couldn’t erase.
Until one day when I went about oil painting,
A scene at dawn which seemed very fascinating,
Tall dark mountains and orange sky,
Waves of the sea rolling by,
And streaks of light, which seemed a bit daunting.
Once completed while keeping it aside to dry,
Without warning I tripped and fell with no time to rectify,
For there it glint,
Streaks of light with my fingerprint,
After 3 days of painting there was nothing left but to cry.
Unpacked my paints to patch up my fingerprint,
To ensure it’s hidden without a trace or hint,
But the more I stared,
It looked like lens flare,
It added a depth, a flaw it wasn’t.
Ever since that day I have started enjoying,
Doing what I feel rather than perfecting something,
Giving it my best,
And leaving the rest,
For perfection doesn’t come close to being happy and relaxing.