In the fest of the canvas world,
Came the beauty capturers , with arts unfurled.

Some created the curves of a lady
Magnificent in crimson , flaunting an alluring body.
Few painted it purple
Plush in eminence :the royal couple.
Others did it blue green shades,
Worshipping the power that never fades.

Elegant in the embrace of scattered light,
Still vanquished of the plight.
For one scribbling snatched all the bright .
Was it the complacence or the ecstasy of the maker into paper white?
His own silhouette stood on the plane
With narcissism vapour , not vain.

" why thou paint thee?"
In this sparkle hall,
Ain't anything appease you at all?

With a proud face he said-

" how beautiful it must be ,to coruscate a masterpiece.
Blemished in your own shades,
excavating your aura for emeralds and jades.

How prismatic it must be to ornate the horizons of painted land,
Violet to red tasting each of the fine strand.

How opulent it must be ,
To reflect stories and emit a tale.
Working on each stroke , from bright to pale.

How surreal it must be ,
To disparate from a dot, figures to aparate.
With a vibrant visage, and wise eyes to ornate.

How tantalising it must be , to be the native of white spread
and die in the shades of hard earned red."