The Empty Canvas

The empty canvas – a fathomless void

So blank it engulfs even thought

It swallows every glimmer

Of imagined conceptions

Knowledge and revelations

That the mind can grasp

In that void – this blot

A dot, a tiny spark

Beginning to revolve

Meandering drunkenly

In the expanse –

Not yet a manifestation

But about to be

A maiden flight

That is about to spring into life

The silence surrounding the sound

At the birth of the countdown

A motionless womb –

Then the resounding boom

A flash of blinding light

Illuminating the endless vacuum

A devastation of fire white heart

Melting exploding in shards

Of multihued gaseous grist

Seed atom molecule particle

Swirling supernovas coalescing

Clotting into swirling consecrations

From within this vast womb

Of revolving bodies

A tiny being of flesh and blood

Looks in awe at this vast creation

Of germinating births and deaths

And makes a tiny dot – a spark

Meandering drunkenly

On a blank canvas – and leaves marks.

An infinitesimal fraction of a heart beat.

-by Rita Putatunda