In deafening silence she examines
the portraits of her begoned past,
surrounding her entity with dark,
pieces of life lost in every one.
That what she has painted haunts
the empty hours late at night,
that what was sculpted in love,
now brings forth tears of silver
Back broken and barely breathing
I deliver you a matt woven canvas,
with pallets of joy and happiness
And brushes of absolute precision
The artist will paint again,
It‘s engraved in their way of life,
paint with your heart, to fix it,
paint with your mind, to find it.
Have faith dearest artist, have faith,
The demons you’ve painted will forgive
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem