No one has ever painted God
But we reckon He is white.
No one has ever hugged a ghost
But we reckon they are pale.
Why does the mind find colours so tempting?
We claim the devil is black
And sadness a grimmer version of black
We claim the sky is blue
And water colourless like innocence
Why do we want to colour around us?
But JYF says
It’s only a true artist who is able to confuse a reader
Into believing that all what his mind thinks of
Is false like the world we live in.
Once we choose to name everything around us
We lose the perfect artist we are like a runaway bus.
