Colors lost their life that day...

"Artists...artists are like butterflies... They have delicate hearts But this society can't handle them..." My mother answered as I told her about Vincent van Gogh... The Starry Night painter was once said to be happy in London ... With a rainbow heart and sky mind He drenched the canvas with his emotions People unaware of this legend put him in an asylum... 'cause the decieved Vincent cut his ear lobe! But he painted...as paints and brushes were still there...just like his brother. He was 37... when voices were all over his mind It was not easy to stop them... So he picked up the gun... And the bullet went straight to that golden heart I wonder how many colors died that day....?

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Written by

Surkhab

21 / F / Panjab

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