Colours explode from the page
Paint and pencils expressing a past age
Holding young hopes and old traditions
Showing love with and without permission
To one it could show the tear shed in hate
Yet another sees a fear for tomorrows fate
And this is the beauty many perceive
When the cautious artists give and receive
The landscapes that flow from the brush
The silent tune from the acrylic song thrush
The sun that hides behind painted clouds
Cities that breathe and minds lost in inked crowds
That is the legacy of the pen, the paper and the heart
A gift to those that can create life with every painted part
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem