Imagine if we were to be; drawings and paintings
Whose fate lies in the pen and mood of the artist
What will be our features.
Imagine if were to be a clay,
Waiting to be portrayed,
In a sticky form we lay.
For on of our sticky bodies they played,
Who’s fate lies in mood and hands of the molder.
Now stop imagining,
For we’re not like images waiting for the artist get finished.
Now let them start thinking,
For we’re humans, we can finish what they started. Now let them imagine the unfinished.
If am right…nothing gets finished