The love for ink.

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Tell me the ways in which I can colour my canvas more?My hands quiver and my heart palpitates further.The thirst remains unsatisfied,after embellishing my writing canvas with umpteen colours,is there a colour lacking still?I wrote with black and then with red,sometimes in vain and often in zeal.The paradox of learning the art still invigorates my very will.Oh how I loved the beautiful inks,the various synonyms for each emotion..sometimes fragile and sometimes sturdy. 

More and more I feel connected to my canvas,the beauty in it is indeed in my system,like the  art of addiction,yet not compulsion.The words and writings explain my deepest colour,oh do have you discovered yours yet?Go deep and dig further,till the ink explains your piece of earth in which you live.Is mud your thing or the valiant,bright flower?

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25 thoughts on “The love for ink.

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