A painting without blue or green,
misses home, yet is too proud to tell,
wanting to leave all signs of a childhood behind
A painting without red, or orange,
lingers with blue, wishing it never strayed
from its rightful brush, wishing to go back.
A painting without purple
is not moving forward, not wanting to,
cannot leave the past behind
A painting without yellow
is torn, not knowing what path to take,
not knowing if there will ever be light.
A painting of Black and White
shall never crease in living the life of another,
for it is the end and beginning without a past, present, or future,
living in the memories of their devotees forever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem