I kept writing with a white ink on the blank convas,
Only to see it turned black.
I put my heart into it
providing the red ink to stay permanent
But it vapourised, vanished, disappeared.
It was then the turn of my brine water from
My Lachrymal gland,
Nothing remained, no marks.
The canvas only absorbed my energy,
The ballads of my ugly love remained,
Somewhere in the dark light twas visible.
It was the stain of my black beauty.
Beauty! that was reticent as gall ballader,
As appendix which then at will incised out.
Somethings are bit Topsy turvy, I heard.
Leaving it on time, for good begets good.
The seeds sown will have harvest.
Nothing is permanent.
A white light splits,
But it does combine.
I am now at shore, where peace channels.
Journey from here harbours to land
Underneath which rivers flow.
A pseudo momentary convas,
Held no importance, it’s just a page.
Only if one contemplates.
The story ahead still remains.
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