I watch life, as if it were an art,
A painting, a landscape, set apart,
I watch it, as if it is the stage,
And, stay away from it, I manage.
Every brush stroke, is a breath taken,
Some unfinished, midway forsaken,
The climax is awaited, hoped befitting,
Actors in it trudge on, unwitting.
A blank canvas for one and all,
Hues and grays have now befall,
Unscripted was how it all began,.
Destiny, and then its course ran.
A canvas, a stage, that’s all it is,
With onset and ends, hits and miss,
Subjects and actors keep moving on,
Many a shapes and roles, each dons.