🎨 The Creator’s Canvas

Kateb-Nuri-Alim
Aug 14
3 min read

By Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

I am a canvas.

Not just any canvas His canvas.

The Creator didn’t pick me up on a whim. No, He laid me down with the same careful hands that hang the stars in the night sky.

He smoothed me out like you would a newborn’s blanket and whispered to the universe,

“Today… I shall paint.”

Before the first stroke, He laid out His palette.

Not the plain kind from an art shop no, this was a spectrum pulled from creation itself.

There was blue not just “blue,” but the blue you feel when you stand at the edge of the ocean and hear its deep, eternal hum.

The blue of midnight skies that cradle your prayers.

The blue of a song’s quiet verse that makes you close your eyes and just breathe.

There was gold not the cheap shine of coins, but molten sunlight dripping between autumn leaves.

The gold of trumpets announcing a new dawn.

The gold that dances on river water when the day is about to break and the world hasn’t yet remembered its troubles.

There was green but not the green of plastic plants.

This green had roots.

It was the green of spring grass that rises after the snow, the green of cedar trees holding ancient secrets, the green hum of life itself in the background of every forest.

It sounded like the low strum of a bass guitar steady, grounding, constant.

And then there was crimson.

Not the crimson of anger, but of heartbeats.

It pulsed like a drum echoing through mountains, the rhythm that says,

“You are alive, keep going.”

It was the crimson of rose petals, of sunsets that make you linger even after the air turns cool, the crimson of love so fierce it would rather break than let you go.

He didn’t just dab these colors on me He breathed them into me.

Every hue was a sentence. Every stroke was a chapter.

The blue streaked across my chest He said it was for the oceans I’d cross and the tears I’d cry, each wave shaping me like the tide shapes the shore.

The gold brushed along my shoulders He said it was the hope I’d carry, even when the night tried to fold itself around me.

The green wrapped itself around my soul He said it was for growth, for seasons I would think were dead but were only sleeping.

And the crimson? He placed it right in my heart so that when the world tried to silence me, I’d still have a rhythm to move to.

The background wasn’t blank either.

There were streaks of fire trials that would refine me like metal in a forge.

There were shadows for the moments I’d feel hidden and forgotten, because without contrast the light would never glow so fiercely.

And there were soft white swirls like clouds for the dreams that would drift above my struggles, waiting for the right wind to carry them into reality.