Eraser

I had an eraser once,
An eraser that rubbed off my worries.
With black ink, whatever my thoughts wrote,
It easily cleared them  away.

Black pencils, I had.
Black crayons, as well.
And all the black things I had,
I seldom used them.

For black was all the gloom, I had.
And Red was for all my joy.
And Blue was for the calmness, inside,
White, it just signified the peace, within.

Thus, colours were everything for me.
Colours were my world.
For in colours, I could express myself,
In colours, I could find myself.

But I never worried about that dark, black shade.
For I had my eraser,
My own little triumph over gloom,
My own little way of joy.

Whatever was black,
The eraser rubbed it all off.
Whatever were my worries,
The eraser drove them all away.

That was a time, long ago.
A time when my crayons was I all I cared for,
And gloom was brought upon me,
Only when my pencils were broken.

It was a time, I could cry.
Cry and weep all aloud.
When Mum's arms,
Were my cuddling pillows at night.

But one day, I grew up.
I lost my eraser, somehow.
And all those pencils I had, were gone.
Only the black one remained.

And only the black one remains as now,
The colourful ones all lost.
But I miss the eraser most of them all.
For it brought joy,
Even when black pencils were all I had.

Somehow, someday, sometime, though.
I did grow up.
I managed to leave behind those colours,
And the eraser is lost.