An artist with eyes that see no Light of The Sun...
Painting a Black Rainbow, imagining the beauty of unseen Red or the gracious greens...
Defining the Blues in his own words, Waiting to see the White !
Shadows of his painting that hold his hand when he is scared in his Dark and Lonely times...
Like the mother from the broken grave of the World, he wishes his paintings would come to life...
What rainbow does he see in his unseen dreams?
Life dangling between the ends of the little Rainbow reminds him of the orphan child that swings between the two worlds !
Swinging between the ends of the worlds not knowing that the Sun will grow dark with time and shine upon the other worlds...
Wonder how long can the chords of his heart withstand the darkness...
Is it the rainbow that he hears laughing at his art or is it the art itself!
A dream painted with the Blood of the poet's heart painted in black...
Stolen with time in to the setting Sun,
promising the oath of honesty and commitment,
Are the everlasting touch of the Bride of the Rainbow,
Traveling into the canvas of Rainbow painted with Green & amazing colors the World shows.
The broken wing ! What can he say ? An opportunity to walk or should he consider it the Fall ?
Affinity with The Earth... A new way to live, Rejoice over it or Stagger in the Pain from falling the Blues...
Over a bottle of Wine shall the heart be bowed? Or Look in to the skies and imagine the time would halt !
Over a bottle of Wine shall the heart be bowed? Or Look in to the skies and imagine the time would halt !
Wonder what the artist imagines behind the unborn eyes...
A grave and a cradle are more like water, slipping in the palms of fate finding a way out in to the void...
The canvas is spread across the banks of the river of thoughts,
Where the horizons of the artist's world continue in to eternal winds...
Standing on the top of the mountain, the art takes its form...
While the brush runs down the canvas till the Earth embraces the Black in to the soils!
None to admire the beauty of infant pain, no audience, no critics...
Its just the artist and the art... Blind eyes guided by the heart of solitude...
neither the Sunrise nor the arrival of The Moon to disturb,
Its just the shadows of the art and the memories of the unborn art...
Standing at the peak of the mountain the artist vanishes in to the flowing time,
Leaving behind the Art to the Bride...
With the broken wing to fly in to the Blues,
" To walk the path of Dark Rainbows... Never to imagine anymore...
No more art... No more Imaginations...! "