The book of my life..
Every page is white, pristine..
It beckons me..
I write on it.. With colors..
The turmoil, happiness, anger, sorrow,
joy, contentment is unconfined on the single,
My unspoken, unsaid words..
I speak no lies..
The thoughts take a form and shape and
You call it my paintings but for me –
it is me, just me..