That canister of black paint
stares directly at you
Hoping you will use it
the black tar you have long avoided
the memories of what you used to be.
The green paint waits patiently
never making eye contact
Hoping today is the day
that you move on
and forgive its jealousy.
The white paint is splattered on the floor
where you dropped it
when it touched your skin
and burned you
revealing that your memories have faded,
but are not forgotten.
The canvas it empty
the canvas you had once smeared with
your tainted heart.
Is now a blank, stretched and pure.
A starting point
where you can start over.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wow. The canvas representive of life. And the paint representive of memories and experiences? I suppose that's my interpretation. That was a good one, K. You should write more like that. It was deep.