The strokes of life still look distant
My skin absorbs the essence and
reflects the radiance of many colours
but the picture is still, incomplete
it's beyond my faculties,
beyond my strength
to see, comprehend or summon to myself-
the colour that will bless the picture that i bear,
 with life
I was crafted and handed down-
blank-
I was a pale, unused canvas;
through my days in the wonder called the world,
time stroked my skin with
different shades of different hues
Even the canvas does not know
 the mind of the artist,
the canvas does not recognize
the hue that will make it complete
Sometimes a shade entices the canvas
but my artist changes his mind and
some other times,
the beauty of the shade fades away
as it seeps into my skin.
No, i don't understand the colours or my artist
I just am a passive that knows not it's own fate
There is a colour-
i am sure this is the one
but
it is still locked up in its space,
on my painter's desk
It is the most beautiful hue i have ever
laid my eyes on
I wish it reaches me
colours my skin
seeps deep into it
brings me to life
and stays forever
but
it still is far away-
all i can do is- look at it
wish, wait, and hope
My painter is my lord
He knows the picture he has in mind and
he knows the colour that'll complete it
If this is the one,
then
it's only a matter of beautiful moments before
the magical stroke reaches me.

The castles of sand that i build,
the spirit of concrete will inhabit-
I believe.
I may have learned a lot, here and there but
i shall never be as good at any of it as
the one thing
i never learnt, the one thing
i excel in, the one thing
that will, sooner or later, find its way to reality-
I believe:
My dreams.

You gave me a sparkling chest
of countless treasures;
dreams- of logic defying dimensions,
of colours i had never seen before;
treasures that you promised were mine to keep
but you never told me-
about the rule-
that things change
because i will change-
so, with each passing year
some dream-stones lost their glint
some dream-bubbles burst
some dream-shapes broke

I did see all this happen
to my most treasured treasure
but i wasn't troubled
instead i felt, as i looked
i was never robbed of my treasure,
it was on me to handle it;
the value of the treasure
that i could see being lost,
i had the choice of adding to my own-
I am glad i had the eyes to see.
I was never robbed of my treasure
I was never robbed of my dreams.

Between my desire to reach the sky
and the hope to help some just see the sky:
could you say which to pick?
I would like to take the middle path,
 if there is any
May be the sky i am trying to reach
 is a deceptive mirage.
May be while moving closer to the dust,
i am growing bigger and bigger:
closer and closer to my sky,
in a way i could never think of before.
What if there's more?
More to me than i know of
More to me than i can see
More to me than i can comprehend
What if i am a middle path myself?