A Scar I Caused

It happened a long time ago. In his belief I had true talents, My father sent me to an art school. He, perhaps, thought I had potentials To become another Van Gogh or Picasso. On the first day, in the very first class, I was given a brush and a tray of paints. I stood facing an insanely white canvass. The art teacher came in and asked me To draw a mother. I left the school without looking back At the bearded lunatic, Who asked me to draw mother. Years later, I painted my mother With a bloodstained crayon, A long red line, with ocassional breaks Of white smiles here and there.