The Canvas and the boy

He stood beside a canvas
Some strokes some scribbles,

a neutral canvas, 
Still bright n white

He peeked some more,

few leaves and petals it bore.

From a corner he saw

the dark progressed

It emerged to bitter 

Like something left unaddressed 

It grew n grew 

N before i knew 

it was deeper and darker,

Eating up canvas’s soul altogether 

All that stayed, 

the withered leaves and petals

And few thorns still not apart

all, that died in the dark

He closed his eyes, 

And stayed all stiff 

hoping it may stop 

Revisiting the perspective of ‘what if’

But everytime I saw 

From the bright white, 

It turned to a dead night 

a corner of canvas 

and the boy besides

He didn’t know, he’s part of the prose

The canvas, the boy and a withered rose

Cares, fears and wears they carry

Depicting the hues of a unique love story

• -Kirti Mahajan