Unrhymed Poetry – #1 Painting Incomplete

Image courtesy Pinterest

I am a painting incomplete
With strokes of black and white
An old school art;
That carries depth in each of its strides
A painting fluttered with color here and there…
I stopped lending myself
As art for artists to paint
Barred from letting the world
Paint me in its color
As an art, I was torn
Smeared and splashed with different shades;
Yet when I viewed
I was none of it
Perhaps it was me
Carrying each stroke indeed;
I was none the canvas carried
Just a bunch of imaginary strokes
The brushes could never romance
With my soul!
Yet I am partly each
Ain’t we always a painting unfinished;
Constantly parading to create a place
I like myself as a painting incomplete
Molding and learning each take
Black and white…
They call an old school art
A soul adorned clothing new
My spirit explodes
With a feel, a thought
It is the same earth that million times I have walked on!

Aishwarya R

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