Читать книгу Pluviophile - Yusuf Saadi - Страница 12

On this palette, will mixing black and violet uncover the nameless colour tipping over the horizon, grief entering sky’s consciousness, dark-plum wine spilled and bleeding from the other sides of the canvas? My body lured to marvel at its secondary colours, to trace this page’s primary words. When I mix this much love with drops of despair, do I create heartbreak, inertia? Do I arrive at what I’m becoming? Words, like colours, have gravity, they exert pull, break in each other’s wakes. Isn’t all matter subject to gravity? Yes, but not like this. The way words pull you into me, like faith stirred by desire. To gather art to its primary source—search for what has no name. Look up: mystery, distance, beauty mix alchemically to unveil this exact shade of moon.