This is not a family

I was trying to paint
A picture perfect image
Of a family
With water colours
Under the rain.

Papa ploughing the field,
Playing catch catch
With the child
On the meadow
Mama standing by, at ease as she be
Affectionately holding the baby.
Watching as witness
Is the magical, miraculous sky.

My brush
Relentless and stubborn
Looking for the sun
Under the weeping sky,
Painting to fade
On the patient page.

The off-white leaf smirked
Wide and wild
Winked at the brush;
Determined, under no rush
The page dried
The sun showed,
Painter was cold
His hands couldn’t hold
The three faded from the mind;
In time, the picture of their bonding
Went haywire, missing.

Blades disenchanted, disunited,
Still tried,
Colours hard as rocks
Now, refusing to melt
Somehow,
Uselessly lied.

Impression of a family
Painted under the rain, surfaced
Like a boat that sailed afloat
The sun smiled.
This is not a family,
Underneath the painting
The painter wrote.