A Blank Canvas

By: Afeefa Rafath
(Picture Courtesy: Google Images)

A blank canvas which the poet describes to be the best form of art
We were born as fresh clay to be molded
And minds a blank canvas to be coloured.

Many artists came and went, leaving their mark.
We were so naive, tainted in their artistic flair and stained with their dye.

Their touch left the clay stale, hard and canvas a dark obscurity.
It's too late to change shape in the hardened mould of reality,

But I long for the intangible, untouched canvas.

As for me, a blank canvas is still the most beautiful piece of art.
Free to become a master piece, whatever the artist wishes to see.

Now, will I be left feeling pitch black on the inside?
Or see the light of day amidst the blinding darkness of the night?

Something tells me the answer is close.

The darkness to my light,
The black to my white and within that darkness, I will find my new light.

I just have to open my eyes.

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