Close your eyes, paint the Untold;
Stare at a canvas--watch it unfold.
Grip on its neck and swipe the chords;
Write it all down, strum in accord.
Be in prose or in poetry,
Retell balance and asymmetry;
Stain the minds with your ivory.
Thoughts surpass the horizons--
And have understood the limpidity of oblivion.
In art, my brethren, you have pathed the vagabonds.
Creativity is a gun in which you and I have fallen for,
It is a threat that you have beseeched to agree and follow--
Or to die without a name, no mark, not at all.
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