Unspoken halloo

A mute, unspoken halloo.


In the middle of the park, on a  narrow path here it is.

A blue halloo of the young man who wanted to prove he had something to say, something to show. Or someone to call out for.

A daring color to make us ignore the shy strikes of paint that were sprayed perhaps in a sleepless night.

Yet children are playing in the sunny meadows, students are having their lunch, grown ups pass by hurried over their  coffees and seniors  warming up their bones in the sun rays.

His message though belongs to the shadows, to the rough stones, protected from the coldness and  warmth of the world. Not too many will find their ways to it.

Just like the artist’s soul: hard to get to, but dazzling once you reach out to it.

If you ever meet him, be gentle… you don’t know the battles that he might be fighting for himself.






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