The Canvas

I am a blank canvas,

Dull & empty

Waiting, waiting to be painted since the day I was created.

And then comes a day,

The day when a fortunate soul brings me home,

May god bless the artist to fill the colors in the dome.

Giving me a direction,

The strokes from his paintbrush he outlined the real me.

He is the only one that understood me & stood by the side,

He is the one who gave the dead me a life,

He is the one who built me upright.

There is a deep relation b/w us,

Unexplainable & untouched.

The connection was growing day by day

Perfection in me, is what he was trying to approach

But he didn't know it was the thunderstorm all over that had encroached.

It started to drizzle,

Little by little the colors of life washed away,

The identity given to me got lost in the greys.

Scrubby & tattered

Even my own creator now can't recognise my face.