I was born on the hand of Artist ,
the brush which had created my shape, was having a magical touch,
every stroke had a joy of creation .
The white Canvas slowly giving birth of portrait of most gorgeous lady of the earth.
I slowly started feeling of emotions which reflects in my look,
the bold colours are like my ornaments,
I was watching , what colour of garment is selected by my artist ,
oh my God it's my favourite colour, swan white .
My childhood was passed on a wall , the room was full of paint smell and bright light.
Very alone and many of us were staying in the same room, but no one speak .
After long waiting, one day my Artist took me to large hall.
I was excited and joyful to enjoy my freedom.
My beauty was the voice of the room and spread all around.
My creator sold me to a rich man , how cruel one could be.
Can anyone sold their children on want of money, me only a portrait, born in the hand of Artist, you painted me over a Canvas not by using brush, it's your subconscious mind guided your fingers to create my portrait.
Then how you differentiate me with your own child who also born with your emotional engagement.

My life was boring .
I was getting older and older .
No one look at me, now I am losing my charms .
So far you are young and charming , all are attracted on you , for what . A call of a unknown Hormone?
Devine love , never neglected and beauty is a fragrance , not follow the rule of age , is a soft touch ,just feel it.

Now I lost all my charms and no longer any eyes are falling on me.

one day , I end my journey of golden time and dumed in a small dark store room.
My eyes are full of tears .
No one care for me ,
Wrinkles are covered my face , my colours are fedded .
My heart is broken and my grave yard is ready , outside the building.
The Corporation Garbage bin is calling me ,
I love my creator and all , but if I could have been your old parents, do you put me in same situation, May be you care for them .
My journey is end and my look, you may appreciate, just pray .

Amit