I took my old brush, and started drawing my lines
On a white paper
On a clear sky
I drew trees
I drew a sun, and birds fly.
I drew a road, through which I grow old.
I drew a plane, takes my dreams away.
I drew a smile and a heart.
But I forgot that this ink gets dry.
3 comments:
in all our wtitings, sooner or later, we discover they have been palimpsests. Like, for instance:
http://re-title.com/public/artists/3856/1/Naglaa-Walker-1.jpg
sometime i believe that we are as humans everlasting, and this comes from my blief that daily we are fading... .
Maybe ink gets dry .. but our memories are always alive.. and what you draw by your hands is printed in our hearts ..
Raed
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