Mystical Dusk

While I am writing these lines, a beautiful and mystical evening is melting in front of my eyes.

The different shades of colours which have appeared in last 1 hours, is nothing less than a magic. 

As if someone is painting on a large canvas of sky. Not quite satisfied with the colours with which he is playing, therefore, trying to play with all possible colours  he has in the plate. 

Now it's colour of gloom which he is trying to paint.

A stroke of a brush tells so much about painter's state of mind. It translates his thoughts into lines and brush of colours. It appears as if, it progresses as waves of his thoughts progresses.

His emotions, his thoughts, his inspirations unfolds in the form of pattern of colours on his play ground canvas. 

As Dostoyevsky might have put it in his words that man's organic need for self-expression, of his natural drive to be himself, leads to creation of an art. 

If it's done in words, it becomes Book. If it's done in colours, it becomes Painting!