Signed…

It started with a line
a mark on the canvas, white pure and divine;
a few more gave it a face,
life and memories got added with days.
Amidst the darkness of deepest blue
and the blushes of lightest red
with the attempts to hide the greens
somewhere close to complete but still undone
the canvas waited in between…
It changed everyday and grew every second
sometimes urging for a streak of difference
sometimes waiting for colors to be blended
sometimes hiding and waiting to be mended.
and then the painter signed his name
as if marking the end of game.
But now what should the canvas do
It loves the red, yellows, greens and the blues
It knows it wont change anymore
and that it would both be hated and adored
and may be all that it needs is just a wall
a support to hold on to for the rest of its life
where it waits to age and fall…