The Artist’s word.

Whispers to a colour who shaded himself under rain shadows.

Oh, Colour! When your apparition visited me in the twilight of aura, effulgent by the soul of the creator in the brightness of lightning and under rain shadows, to save me from the speech yoke and the capture of time, and to lead me to the horizons of dream, the charm of your beauty allured me. Wondering in the nebulas of your shade. Allah (God) has illuminated my mind to follow you, and I did, so that we carry each other through the spaces of the soul and the pulse of sensation in to the mysteries of the infinity and the depth of the unknown.

Oh, Colour! My companion! My beloved, how many a day have you been alone, illuminating the darkness of the fore-night around me with dancing candles! And how many a night were you alone depicting the dream details! After the time has betrayed his time and his chest narrowed to true speech! Oh my colour! Speech was the love of my soul, and then you become my soul, so that I became a word of colour and a colour in word. What can I say to you when speech forbids speech to say its word or to tell what his beginning harbours!!?

Oh, Colour! I owe you! I owe you my cordiality, my love and all the cells of my lifetime. Oh, Colour! Thank you, thank you red, thank you yellow, thank you blue, I beg your pardon, oh colour! If I betrayed you and myself, restricting your liberty sometimes and narrowing escape of your ambition in a new creation, a creation that no eyes have yet seen, nor ears have yet heard, nor senses and minds have yet perceived, nor sensation has harboured. Oh, Colour! It seems that we are really controlled; we are not going further in the infinity and the imagination of naught, unless we have controlled fate and hold the rein of creation.