We are born as blank parchments–
shaped by countless hands over time,
brushed by chance and choice,
and by strokes of desire and grime.
Our lives begin as soft sketches—
pale outlines of contingent futures.
slowly gaining textures as circumstances
scrape across us like sandpaper,
etching grooves and ridges
until we think, "This is me."
At times, we paint with vibrant strokes,
transforming tumult into swirling patterns
that shimmer with glimmers of grace.
Yet other times we freeze before all easels:
hearts heavy with doubt, brushes trembling,
questioning if we know how to create.
To live artistically demands courage—
an audacity to embrace our mistakes.
It requires selectivity: knowing what to keep,
or when to repaint better shapes.
And always, humor is essential;
why take tiny canvases so seriously?
Indeed, we must learn to love our messes,
for soon enough they’ll merge with the canvas of the cosmos,
becoming enveloped with the entropy of existence.
