Blank canvas, like blank mind,
wonders how it would finally find,
colourful thoughts to dance on its surface,
and an artist so kind.
Kind enough to spend some time,
choosing among colours rouge, azure or lime,
put these into a beautiful landscape,
or paint some memories from his prime.
His prime focus is to pick up the brush,
and decorate the canvas without any rush,
he had the talent, but couldn't create,
as a river of inexpression, towards his mind gush.
Gushed in with immense and formidable force,
the artist tried to defend, couldn't judge its source,
stayed there for next few months,
gradually inexpression was succeeded by remorse.
Remorse pronounce enough to suspend,
the creativity that was naive to transcend,
the mountain of fear, doubt and uncertainty,
and to imagine what waits on the other end.
End reminded him, why did he start,
the commotion of the outside world, instilled a spark,
from within his soul came a voice,
'This is your moment to leave your mark.
Mark my words, I free you from hesitation,
You have been already chosen by the creation,
to be born from your brush dancing over the canvas,
Canvas like life, becomes alive with a touch of Inspiration!'
- N K Sran