Immaculate and clean.

It could reflect a lively image of anything, seen, heard or thrown at it. 

Time passed by taking along the blank canvas with it.

Passing through the labyrinths of the world’s kaleidoscope, 

the blank canvas started getting coloured. 

Some acquired and some ascribed. 

Reflections started swaying to voices. 

Shades got darker and at some turns got murkier.

Getting printed under numerous presses and pressures,

stretching to accommodate one more word and one more expression,

striving for followers and following some papers,

the blank canvas started storing stories one after the other and impressions indelible in nature.

Leaving it’s clear, pristine and neutral nature, 

the blank canvas took a sharp turn into the lanes of opinion, schemes, scams and 

many such colours. 

With each turn and in each lane the colours changed, the impressions varied, 

the stories stretched and the intentions emerged convoluted. 

The blank canvas moved at good pace along with time, 

losing its clarity and pristine beauty to the glitter and colors. 

And the blank canvas made its foray in to the sphere of worldly wise.

Tumbling down the bottomless scape, 

trying to scale some scrappers in the ill planned path,

the blank canvas lost its purpose and direction. 

Swinging to the noise of worldliness the blank canvas was blown away to the gush of theatrics.

None to reign in and no thread to hook on, 

assuming the erratic flight as freedom the blank canvas flew aimlessly,

only to fall in the bin of unwanted relics.