A Portrait

Every color has walked out of it,

black and white now it is.

Hanging on a colorful wall over there,

creating strange and mysterious atmosphere.

Flashes born out of it inventing a time machine

pushing and forcing me to peep in.

Peep in through the window of past

where lot of moments seem to last.

It's a portrait with a layer of grime,

appearing as a book of epitaph at this time.

Life is seriously hysterical,

simplified but still looks mystical,

when an object shows  how to be alive

and brakes teach how to drive;

when black represents the color of white

and death depicts the glory of life,

when violence recognizes the depth of peace

and stupidity defines what seriousness is.

How ironical life appears here!

when a still portrait moved me somewhere.