It is you that I greet oh…! Mother.
For your breast is our source of life.
The vessel of the art being.
I always have thee in mind,
because you are the fountain of all creativity.
The melting pot of all arts.
Thy weapon was my beauty,
my beauty of my youthful spite.
Thy rhythmic drums of imagination
have bought cacophony to our hearts.
And our being was immensely distorted.
Oh…! Creator of Mother Art.
Thy legend has transverse to the rivers of blue.
Ever birthed before our existence.
For it is in her root.
That we stand still, even when genuflecting in the flowers of time.
I know, you are still with us, Oh…! Mother.
For even when we desert thee, you will never let us be.
I can still remember thy words you said to me.
“My son, your vessels of iron are at their hands. Guide their appetite with care and handle it with the cacophony of cauliflower. So that your beautified goals would bless thee in return”.
And of these, I have upheld.
Vested in the glamour of nature.
The birthed nature of our existence.
Oh…! yes, I am he.
I, Cyrinmike must promulgate these laws and beauties.
Because it is in her that my succour lies.