Admist the scribbles,
I never realised
I had created an art
That would be cherished,
For years to come and go
But, always remained my part.


It was simple and sweet,
Blotted with various hues.
Memories and emotions
Tagged along with them.
Very conspicuous it was
Among the whole mess and its tones.

Onlookers gazed at it
Patted my back and said,
Good work, well done.
But it was not me,
Who deserved all this,
It was He, silent in the sun.

Now, after the end of time,
I come to the last line.
Not a single space left
To write one small word.
Oh no! this should not have happened
But fate won in this race.

I still think about it
Wonder what should be the next.
Should i stop writing and say nay?
Should i clear this page?
Should i scribble on my art?
No, that,s not my way.

I can always turn,
A fresh new page,
The one that's clean.
Given for me to paint
Scribble, write or just stare.
But what do i do with it?
Poses a question i must dare!