Haibun - A Colourful World

The infinite matrix of pale white canvases, span the entirety of the universe. I sat there, on the edge of the world, with an empty gaze, staring into the monochromatic void which surrounds all of existence. In contrast to my deepest, most desperate desire, I felt nothing. It is a place which has adopted the final state of being. Nothing arises, and nothing diminishes. There was no conflict nor peace, no birth nor death, no luminescence nor darkness, no pain nor pleasure. It is a place where no one has been, and also a place where everyone has been. The everlasting present.

My arms extended themselves outwards, my fingers caress the fabric of space and time, in a pitiful attempt to seek splendor within memories of what once was, to evoke an elusive remainder of my exhausted emotions. A slender brush, stained with a hue of azure, manifested itself within my fragile grip. It reminded me of... someone. Someone who always believed in me.

Within eternal tragedies,

a prayer for happy endings.

How surreal, bizarre, 

as irrepressible as unbreakable wills. 

With meticulous strokes, I painted on the blank canvas. Gently, but firmly, the skies became blue. They are the hopes and dreams of withering flowers and undying leaves which continue to cling to the hanging tree. My eyes sealed themselves, as I complete my final stroke, in reminiscence of all the love and trust that I have been given. As much as I do not deserve them, they are very much real.

An endearing touch I felt, as a breeze embraces my newfound presence and left swiftly. I turned around and wonder where that breeze went. Warmth leaked from the blue sky above, patting me on my head. From where I sat, nature's green began to flourish. A deep breath I took, unloaded decades of age and burden from my being. The fresh and zesty sight of lush greenery reminded me of... someone. Someone who never gives up.

An unforgiving storm,

cast worlds to their end.

With us together,

we lead a final stand.

Creepers and vines adorn me, wrapping themselves around my forehead, forming a crown not of thorns, but blossoms and florets. Their faint fragrance resonated through space and everything that is. Before I could shy away from such overwhelming favor, the lianas grew together into an oversized throne, holding me high up, in unwavering honour and reverence. I lowered my head, took off the crown and placed it on my lap. A reflection of my own realization, none other than the hero who wields not a great sword, but a heart of gold.

Giving, receiving love,

are gestures of equal importance.

Look away not,

from our kaleidoscopic, brilliant universe.

Putting my fears aside, I raise my brush, and begin to paint moons and starlight, nebulae and supernovae. I shall paint seas of auroras, and waterfalls of rainbows, the Eye of the Sahara, the Blue Grotto. I shall dye every single strand of these translucent, meaningless fibers with ice-cold patience, serendipitous bravery, lavenderish integrity, perennial perseverance, rejuvenating kindness, fiery justice and blood-red determination.

One fateful day,

shadows shall sink every colour.

I may fall,

but surely, as a stargazer.