The Plight Of The Four Winged Canvas

The painted strand of fiber is held rigid,
as its variegated counterpart clings to the air,
the cocoon of sapphire mist encroaches upon,
the sun dazzles amidst network of intermingled wrists.
the thread surges with upsurgent fervour,
the canvas races still further.
slow staccato movements of the hands,
nimble turning of the feet,
blaring noises kiss the air,
multicolored strips of plastic cut the glare,
with daintily adorned straw brimmed head gear.
the fibers collectively come abreast,
chorus in unison for equal strength,
the canvas sways wildly,
as the savage battle is put to true test.
the canvas finally snaps into multiple fragments,
floating with gleeful anticipation,
amidst the pulsating tension,
descending with effusive velocity,
with the backdrop of oleander being its lone saviour.
i mull quietly over the proceedings,
the four winged canvas falls with a thud,
gently caressing my large feet,
puts me in a trance; an everlasting sleep.

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