Every day, He works on an immense canvas hung on the sky.
Ages marches past, each leaves its track in the huge picture.
The Painter takes again his brushes and colours with the same invariable joy.
The shadows become lighter, the shock of colours less hard.
The brushstrokes are less chopped; one would say that they dance.
The decor changes all the time so much that yesterday is already non-existent.
Always forward, frantic, the Painter runs to catch the future.
The universe of yesterday is gobbled up in the night
Of forgetfulness can never be recovered!
Tomorrow with its unexpected surprises arrive so fast!
Nevertheless at any moment, it is a finished picture.
Nothing to wish, nothing is missing there, always a perfect recording.
At each instant, the new picture disappears in the nothingness.
Tomorrow in its procession brings brilliant revelations.
Laughter, tears, fights and victories of yesterday are now obsolete.
One can never go back, one is along way forward.

The Painter does not grow tired of putting his dreams on the canvas.
Yesterday, was it only twenty four hours from now?
Or one year, hundred years, thousand years or billion years?
What importance! Every moment slides in an abyss of night.
The future is not invented out of nothing, it exists in the past.
Present is only a brilliant image on the mobile ribbon of Time.
All the conceivable pictures are locked in the dream, the Real Idea,
In a single point without space, or time of the Unique, Brahman
Who unfurls, inexhaustible, unpredictable in the eternal manifestation.

The Painter reveals his existence in every picture, tells his life.
But who has ever seen his true face? The picture is never ending.
Nevertheless, He is so present…. this mystic review without end
Billion faces and glances … His incalculable fleeting reflections.
We remain dumb in front of the Mystery of Beauty, and Bliss.

N.Guha Roy 2001