For me life is just an image—
Just an impression of my deeds and misdeeds.
I am the lone artist
I am the lone observer
Mine is the comprehension
Mine is the appreciation
Swings of brushes are mine, colours are not
Easel is mine, the canvas is not
I know not whom
The colours I draw from,
I know not who has blessed me with
The canvas I paint upon.
The image when done
Will only be my tribute
To that incomprehensible entirety.