Saturday, 26 March 2011

Life--an impression

What they say about life is not mine;
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.

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For years they have been there--stoically oblivious To the world slipping out of time--caged in the dungeon of Down-shelves in my library...