Blank Paper

With a blank sheet in hand,
I try to sketch a picture.
Breathing life into it,
I watch it vanish,
disappearing in the next moment.
Smiling, I gaze at its fading form,
dancing as smoke,
twisting into nothingness.

Now I fill the blank pages
with whispers of thoughts,
echoing in the dark caverns of my mind,
only to vanish with the sunrise,
leaving behind the blankness—
a canvas untouched.

They say he roams the desolate desert now,
a mirage himself,
drawing errant lines—
sometimes grass, sometimes clouds,
sometimes stars, sometimes lakes.
Sketching endlessly,
breathing life into fleeting dreams,
scattering woven hopes along his path.
And yet, always by his side:
a blank page and a whirlwind of thoughts.

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