Self-portrait

On the canvas you sit languorously
Like woman ,waiting for the skin tones
To appear , in a soft brown jute texture.
You daub a little paint to clear spaces.

You now have a nose and some eyes.
One two or three  or more depending 
On whether you sit on haunches or stand
With your back against the white wall
So your body is two-dimensional frame.

A nose defines you above ruby lips 
Wet with eating for  navel and above, 
Its packed contents ,inside, sealed
Hermetically, under  mind's guidance.
Mind is jelly  not coming on the canvas
Yet you can see dirty hand everywhere.

The eye-brows look on the eye-holes
Vigilantly so the eye-balls do not get up
And go away when nobody is noticing .
You capture them live with their wet fear
So they cannot deny their existence.

You are now on the canvas ,yet outside.
You do not agree with your sly smile,
As you are not you but somebody else
May be, a dog in the street or a lizard
On the wall ,with triumph over insect.

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