Under the everlasting grey clouds,

Among the polluted and sickening smoke,

The mundaneness of brick can be seen far and close,

Our creative souls weep,

The belief in art is weak,

Yet we struggle on,

Filling blank spaces with desperate screams,

Hiding our entities to express our identities,

The strokes of paint over time grows faint,

But the message remains strong as if it was written by fate,

We want to be heard,

Uncover what they are trying to blur,

Take to your canvas,

Be it a wall or plank of wood,

Let your fire wander,

And make the world wonder.