What Painting am I Today?

Hairs swirl like the sun on equinox.

Every movement feels like a tender touch,

kissing the surface of every crevice.

The swaying of the branches—

harmoniously composed

imitating the baroqueness of Bach,

basking in all of its perfect blemishes.

Yet, the world will dress it in chaotic colours.

Fitting in locked confinements,

painting porcelain dolls

waxed in never-ending refinements.

But my universe is uniform—

Molded by everything and nothing.

Rays of sunshine peak between the cracks of linen—

leaving intricate traces in its wake,

only to be wiped by nightfall.

Every emerging tabula rasa is unique.

There is a moment between eleven and twelve,

when the stars realign, and the planet is reset.

In stillness,

the universe decides—

The palette

that is destined to call.

Yesterday,

yellow grew off the wall, shadowed by hues of blue.

Today,

I am swept by the surge of paints that taught me.

Black was the day her sisters were sentenced.

The stars that infected the soil

Were burned into the slant of our seeds.

Puddles of blood were left on streets,

Cries of her ancestors shook the ground,

but were drowned by many who yelled

“Repentance!” “Repentance!”

Violet was the day her garden fell,

His prickly vines took what it could.

The endless rainfall was not enough

for him to stop his painful destruction.

Instead, her pleads were silenced,

by his greedy consumption.

Yellow became the day she sat with the sun.

White pearls shined so brightly,

roots screaming in celebration.

Flowers swirling around her limbs tightly,

cradling this moment of elation.

The sun sets,

and the slate is cleaned of any premonition,

Silence brings the whispers of acceptance.

In stillness,

the universe decides—

the palette’s calling sensation.

Tomorrow,

the sun will rise again,

swatches of white

cover the edges of my mural.

In time,

Fine tips swirl in blissful freedom,

blending into an endless masterpiece,

unpolished, but spilling over

into the spaces that surround me.

The universe may hold tomorrow’s designs,

But I am everything in between,

the sun and the moon,

the medium and the muse,

the alpha and the omega.

The lines of linen stretch over my bones,

And tell a story,

of those who surrender to the unknown.