DEEPTA'S PORTRAIT.

AN INDIAN GIRL IS HAVING HER PORTRAIT PAINTED.

You father has paid
Good money for the
Artist. Sit very still,

Deepta, the man needs
You not to fidget, he
Says, placing his hairy

Hands on your shoulder.
Why must women move
So? Is stillness alien to

Your nature? You thought
He was going to laugh or
Smile but he does not; his

Lips disappear into his huge
Moustache and beard. The
Artist moves you to the left

Slightly, his small hands
Moulding you to the position
He requires, his eyes studying

You, dark brown, you notice,
The thin moustache thinly
Grown. Your father stands

Where he can see you. He  
Folds his arms and stands
Stiffly. The artist seems

Nervous, he fiddles with
His charcoal, his fingers as
A dancer warming up before

The dance, his eyes moving
Over you as if his mind has
Already taken you in, has

Swallowed you in a huge
Gulp. Father nods, then rather
Slowly leaves the room, his

Hairy hands behind his back,
His fingers crossed. You
Breathe easy; the artist blows

Out air, his anxiety away, he
Smiles at you. Men often smile
At you, it is their way of

Capturing your image for
Their sleepless nights, for
Their empty lives, replacing

Your beauty for the dullness
And ugliness of their wives.

Reviews

[emmah]

it's stunning how beautifully you weave a vivid scene, complete characterization and exquisite imagery into all your verses. the myriad themes you touch in your writing are simply astounding. this one, too, seemed like the scene was playing out, in great detail - the expressions, the eyes, the movement, the stifling presence of the father, the silent sigh that escapes the artist and the muse when he leaves and that biting end - all stellar moments brought to life with your genius pen. it's an exceptionally poetic piece!

[Terry Collett]

Painting by Raja Ravi Varma. poem by me & my Muse.