When the creator paints: Why is the colour of the world seems cruel?

There are so many guesses about how the world was created. In a big bang explosion or in the natural creation where the creator that lives somewhere is with his magic all things will be created within a single stroke of his power, what if the world is just a product of what God paints.  The colour and pigment will make the world alive, people will rebirth, nature with symbiosis, and all the things that are uncommon began to listen within what we called creator either the earth or heaven. But the world was once that perfect as it seems, it's dangerous and cruel now.

The divine power where the artist is the God and the art is the world. We chased the feeling of being an art of life. Within the magical spell or picky dust, we emerged from a single soil to a moving mammal where they began to think that the world is perfect to fit for human evolution.

In his painting, he uses the pigment white in a black canvas and the world gets light, the deep and blankness of daily life emerge. The creation where they only lived in the darkness went running for their lives. They choose to dig in the deepest ground where lights won't be alive, where darkness would be in a piece that dwells in their heart.

He again puts the colour blue within a white canvas, the world drank and see water becomes dominant in the earth. Suddenly life emerged, the school of fishes that rotated in a circle, the crawling small creation, the swinging and dancing fish with a colour that only seen when the dark, a gigantium creation of either fish but having a pair of legs that swim and go back to the shore. The swimming reptiles that in his back were his home, what a colourful world from the deep sea and beyond.

The Colour green comes next. He painted the green colour and the earth was filled with grass, trees were jumping from nowhere, and fruits fed the animals that were grazing. The nectar becomes abundant as food for little insects. The grasses and sedges began to cover the land from the barren soil into the wintergreen of the once-living under the full blooming skies.

But then comes the duel where he paints the red colour either to balance the world or diminish what he had done. The world is now covered with red pigment, where blood is floating everywhere, death and cries follow, their hand full of the colour of hate, the swinging monsters emerging. People began to become individualized themselves. To be alone and survive, to let the weak become the first line and the strong nor rich will be the last standing man.

How beautiful the canvas was created, the peace of love that is present is undefined. The greatness and wish of some are slandering like a gloming stone as mica or amethyst in the angel's necklace.

We began to cry, following the beats of the heart. Where sorrow and pain of losing something, jealous for what others had and we don’t, down for others success and we were not, compare for what they could when we were weak to follow what they owned.

The world is cruel for they say we were equal but the society that design provoking we were not. Within a single glance from their eyes, when they see you were weak you will be the target of people bombing from their tongue, disregarding you, abandoning you for they don’t see you were worthless enough. Or they see you as a threat so people will sign you off, cut your will, even your life. That’s somehow called predators and we sometimes the poor little rabbit that will serve as prey.

At this moment of time, we witnessed that it feels like another colour of strong undefined one that might be invisible as ink, a new variant of concern, new enemies that is unseen for the sake, from plague to the omicron that’s killed most of the life, and normal things become just history to think, reminisce and even remember.

The world is evolving and the colour from the canvas begins to change, from a vibrant colour it becomes muddy or dusty. The older it took the more rust from the world-destroying the canvas. Carbon emission gassed armours and flying deadly missiles that just enter from their key pod thousand of life will cut its functions.

We are the art and he was the artist, bits seem today that the art destroys the original colour of the canvas. The colour green turns to brown because people cut the trees and never return the favour, the colour blue of the sea turns brown for more and more contaminants are present in the liquid phase and the colour red from blood, that is somehow a small stain is now covering the whole art.

When the creator paints, it's so beautiful and vibrant but the creation stains it. The world is now cruel and unsafe but like an art. There is always recreation and restoration when we truly want to change,  for that thanks for reading…