It turned a not so talented Unid into an artist. The art came from within, somewhere hidden beneath the every day chaos. Something so deep that Unid didn’t know it was even there.
And thus, picked up the pen in gold and silver, held the black canopy and began writing tales of sorrow
Long letters, curves and lines, Unid went on till there was nothing to retch, an empty stomach and an emptier heart
Unid cried, and the ink washed away any trace of the misery transported to the black canvas. And so it began again. Not satisfied with what was done, Unid began again.
This time, it was colours, all kinds of them, confined into flower petals and long stemmed roses. Unid hoped to cure pain through paint.
But failed, yet again.
Unid waited for her desire to come, to smile and hold the door to the outside realm, where the sun shined and love bloomed in meadows, only heard of until now.
Where the black canopy would give way to blue skies, a day of summer, a day of romance. To turn Unid into a poet.
Till then, to drown away woes of separation from love, Unid turned into an artist.
Shifa Naseer 