Canvas God Poem by Rohan Sen

For years now he stands
at his window unrushed,
they doff their hats and courtesy
for the many canvas he has brushed

They see no movement of his grace,
to acknowledge the human race,
and so their simple existense deduce,
the master turns recluse

He is the town's idol,
and afore him they pray,
prancing in new dresses,
romancing couples, he blesses,
wishing luck to travellers on their way.

Rifts and accusations are brought
his judgement in legal matters sought,
silence of his features dictate,
the guilty always placate

And in times of joyous glory
they dropp off gifts to his honour,
he never pays heed to their offer,
he never enriches his coffer.]

Till one day chuckling fate
opens worships' gate,
they see a brush clutched
by a lifeless bony hand
besides it, his own reflection
on a canvas stands

Today the master lies buried,
below an unadorned stone,
his canvas shackled in a forgotten yard,
where he stands in his trial alone,
no witness comes forth to defend
for the master tricked his own