Canvas Blank

You don't walk in my boots,
You don't wear my skin,
You don't know my roots,
You don't make my kin,
You don't live my life,
You don't bear my strife.
So judge me not by what you hear or what you see,
For I'm not what you think I might or might not be.

So judge me not by the paint on my face or shabby tattered drape,
For you've never seen by my eyes nor ever casted my shade.


I've read from the pages of people in this moving library,
And talked to the chapters of a book as if a kin dearie.
Some calligraphed smelled aged but with the corners chapped,
While others were new paper crisp but intellect sapped.
Some brimmed with sophistry but prosed pretty wise,
While others were flashy illustrious but quite ugly inside.


Hence, I humble began with a broken easel and a canvas blank,
On it painted my dreams with pigments of flowing sand.

Muses tittered at the looks of my plain pale apparels,
My art had me courted beauties of unimaginable parallels.
Following show-bibles still absolute maverick in my own way,

I smear it with the paints, painting portrait of an eternal soliloquy.

Humor Divine

Standing amidst all, in a gaudy gala of the masquerade

Leaving lies of the light, he seeks truth of the shade

He walks silently, within the shadows pitch black

With swiftly paced steps, unstopping in the track

His glance scribe a story, for each untold question

And foretell mute prophecy, for all ignored commotion

Sees heads with dozen masks, but no faces underneath

All eyes toiling to smile, all hearts struggling to breathe

Dreams of their future, are nightmares of his days old
And their sobs of tomorrow, he sighs them today cold

So he breaks the fourth wall, and then shouts out mute
Looks up and asks Him, a reason for the act so rude

But skies still were all silent, as they always have been
Just puzzles without hints, veiling whatever they mean

Dejected he shut his eyes, and let out solitary tear sad
With deep breaths in, he muted the world around mad

And then only he found it, as lone lamp in the mist
Beauty worth all, mused on the strings of that soloist

Leaning in a corner, the music played as soothing smile
Still crowd rushed on, miser for a moment worthwhile

Pulled with tipsy eyes, he forgot all that's been wrong
Soloist handed him a fiddle, told to go and play along

So he chose another nook, with the fiddle in his hand
And played his heart's song, doing magic without wand

So he too played for thirsty ears, uncaring if yours or mine
Enjoying the dance now smiling, at the hidden humor divine.