Hues of today, shades of yesterday and tints of tomorrow,
woven together by memory, separated by time.
Life is explained in innumerable ways by everyone but
all that we seek within those definitions is our own perspective.
Being an artist, it is a canvas to me.
No, not an empty canvas where we can apply colours and
paint a picture similar to our dreams.
It is, but, a dirty one, with dark patches here and there.
Years are spent on covering them up with facades of hope…
hope, that someday we’ll get to see the desired picture.
Some end up with satisfying results, some with a messy one, yet others with a torn canvas
Mine’s still under progress.