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I dream the dream of yesterday of how we used to dance and play and how the music in the street brought the whole nation to its feet; the sun has come and gone and find you sitting on the lawn, waiting for an unexpected miracle but the days crept slowly as you splash paint on the canvas with abstract verses of the eighteenth century of man embracing the solitude in sculptures that appeared in the sun. 

 You can see them dangling in the sun forcing the heavens to get up and run  and the precisions that points to the sky embraces the thoughts that is bottled up inside. 

You can see a glimpse of life unfolding around you and destiny smiling at the dome beside you, the atlantics is gazing secretly at the side and the paint on the canvas is waiting for the bride. 

What do you have to exchange for a gift when you are surrounded with labels that doesn’t fit. You see those portraits on the wall? If you turn it the other way it will make you look tall and the ballerina standing upright that wasn’t supposed to be her plight. 

 I had a thousand women posing in front of me and I capture every detail with nails and fine pencil led. I have a thousand and ten frames hidden under my bed and I never see those women again.

 They all got paid and went their merry ways. But there is just one portrait that stands out and every time I looked at it, it stirs my mood and makes me want to shout.  

I put it inside for safe keeping and that is the portraits that makes me want to go on living. It is that portrait that catapult me to the top and it is the portrait that gives me all that I’ve got, someday it will take on real life and jump  off the canvas and be my bride.  

The secret of the pen is hidden at the point and the texture on the canvas and the space between is what makes life gleam on a soaring beam.

I can splash the paint to the rhythm in your feet and create a masterpiece from little scraps thrown outside by the widow on the block, but the one that had everyone talking was the pieces that portray my daily living.

 It brought the multitude together, and had the rich and the poor shaking hand and the nervous ones holding their breath in astonishment.  

It was the village on the run and how I survived for four years and six month chewing gums, yes it was that painting that that filled the gallery and brought the house down every night and make trillion in broad day light, come and sing the artist song with me and learn how I survive this daily misery.
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