The canvas filled by empty palette

 

 

The  boats swirl in breeze

I made these from my canvas

For the brush was dipped

In a palette long back

Now the stroke turns empty

Every drag of brush on canvas

Shows nothing to the onlooker

While my heart pours his hues

On a fading canvas

Much like the twilight

That turns sight into grey and black

The shades are present but transformed

So is an art the moulding of reality .

I wait for the sun in night

Folly awaits his reflection

While wisdom deters the wait

On a moonless night

And waits long enough

To reap the sparkle of dawn

When the grey is filled with shade

The boats return to the painting

The canvas is adorned with tinge

Of a blushing palette.

 

Delhi

23.12 hrs

2099

2.10.23