When the canvas was kept
in front of me….. I looked
with the same blankness
onto their face……
they did not smile… but their
sharp looks over my head
had slaughtered my past,
present and future…
A knife borrowed from time
drew something on my face
splashing a few drops
onto the canvas….
the painting had begun….
they handed me a brush and
paints and said… “now finish it….”

Categories: Poetry