Monday, April 23, 2007


These merging of the days into each other,
Each pattern blending into the next
Tone on tone. Colour upon self-same colour.

Sometimes, sitting at my empty canvas
I have tried my hands at magic.
Tried to dream up,
Your face, eyes, your unkempt hair
Into reality.

It's your voice that makes my art falter.
Your voice pregnant with
All that you did not say.

And the paints peel off.
Layer after layer
After layer,
Of endless closure.

Outside, one more day
Becomes yesterday.