For the Sketch

With a stroke

Begins a conquer,

Of a serene vast whiteness,

By a tiny cone of grey

Driven by another colossal grey and white

Persevered by petite organs of dexterity..

Graphite tipped areas

Printing the mind on chart,

The unscathed zones,

Accentuating the form,

An art comes into being,

Stilled into the art ,

Frozen with time,

Oblivious to the mortal world,

A portrait joins the millions of lives..

And when I look at it,

A thousand fondles of the chart,

Beginning from all sides,

All directed to the nodal point,

Forming what they wish, on their way,

And end at the fulcrum of the immortal,

That which articulates sundry stories,

And that which I look when I look at it,

The eyes…

And it pulls that chord inside…