Watercolor Dreams

Hello, my canvas…
Today, I won’t paint with colors, but with dreams...
Each stroke is a note,each shadow, a memory…
And somewhere between silence and dawn,
A melody begins to breathe.

Hello, my canvas, my colors, my light,
Today I am painting the song of the night.
My brush is a flute, my strokes are refrain,
Sunrise and sunset flow into the same.

Not portraits, not landscapes with order or lines,
But silver illusions, soft flutes intertwine.
Upon the white canvas, the music takes flight,
A butterfly’s whisper dissolves into night.

From tender strokes of watercolor streams,
The notes awaken and take to their wings.
They rise with the dawn, in lilac haze,
Fragile footsteps through morning’s gaze.

Not rigid design, but a soul in its flight,
The hush of a heart in the stillness of night.
Each stroke is a whisper, a secret refrain,
Of longings and dreams that my soul contains.

On the canvas, a morning of pearl,
Clouds with a shimmer of silver unfurl.
A rainbow-feathered bird soars high,
A crystal house beneath glass sky.

The violin sings with a trembling thread,
It calls me away where no time is spread.
Shapes flowing like smoke on the water’s face,
A golden moment, suspended in space.

From tender strokes of watercolor streams,
The notes awaken and take to their wings.
They rise with the dawn, in lilac haze,
Fragile footsteps through morning’s gaze.

Not rigid design, but a soul in its flight,
The hush of a heart in the stillness of night.
Each stroke is a whisper, a secret refrain,
Of longings and dreams that my soul contains.

It doesn’t burn bright, it doesn’t proclaim,
My painting is singing in whispers of flame.
Like spring’s first flower, so gentle, so new,
Innocent, fragile, enchanted with dew.

And in that simplicity, hidden from sight,
Lie echoes of joy, small sparks of delight.
Each line is a thread, each brushstroke a chord,
Entwined in the music of hearts restored.

From tender strokes of watercolor streams,
The notes awaken and take to their wings.
They rise with the dawn, in lilac haze,
Fragile footsteps through morning’s gaze.

Not rigid design, but a soul in its flight,
The hush of a heart in the stillness of night.
Each stroke is a whisper, a secret refrain,
Of longings and dreams that my soul contains.

The painting is finished, yet comes alive,
The melody dances, it shimmers, it flies.
The stars fade away, the first light has begun,
A story eternal, a song just begun.

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Here’s a link to the song

https://disk.yandex.ru/d/7xYVCok4efnSfQ