Art of life

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.