An artist had his favorite flower vase on the Steele table, 

kept there to be painted… to be taken through the unromantic crafts. 

But the artist was uncharacteristically sane that day…

so the colours couldn’t be licked…the senses couldn’t be uplifted. 

He cursed the vase…he though of making a chaos out of it…but he couldn’t…

He might be a failed one but he still was an artist. 

So he sold the vase…and drank cheap whiskey with the money. 

Again someone on the verge of madness bought that one. 

But he never put it behind his canvas, 

rather he used to keep it on his shelf…

and he used to paint translucent naked women with the presence of it. 

His paintings were never sold, 

he too wasn’t a successful one…

but he could take that vase with him for his cremation.

…………………………………………………………………..

Photograph: Google.