The Unlived ...

What if the shadow wore colors, not just gray?

Here it stood, dense and heavy, then drifted away.
 And suddenly, the hues I see, alive and bright,

Not mere shadows, but echoes of fleeting light—
 Fragments of a conversation, whispers from the past,
 Or dreams that take form, in a spell so vast.

How do I craft from this a world, boundless, deep?
 A sigh in the canvas, where heavy thoughts seep,
 Yet those delicate colors, like a fevered dream,
 Haunt me as I wander, in a vivid stream.
 Sometimes, I see fish or a tree taking flight,


And the colors become figures, dancing in the night.

I don’t paint my dreams; they pull me away,
 Leading me to realms where the heart longs to stay.
 I painted a fish, and with a stroke, it became

a portal of desire, not bound by name.

Its tail turned to tresses, in a twist of fate—

I didn’t intend it, yet it called me to create.

A world I crave, without tangible life,

A transparent existence, free from the strife.

We live it within, where reality fades,

In the depths of our souls, where this magic invades.

I'll nurture this vision and breathe it to life,
 A realm born anew, beyond worldly strife.
 I see horizons, fantasies, colors that roam,
 Escaping their limits to find a home.

Azza.