The colours of the invisible …
With these he would draw the Icon.
He had prepared the paints in the traditional way.
he would choose no other.
He had reserve it as a prerequisite
in order for the impossible to occur.
It was daybreak.
The candle had brought the day.
And the light the sun.
Without shadows.
Byzantine Icon.
Only light.
He merely touched the circumscription.
As if he was beside him, by his side.
The brush was not trembling.
Neither the wood he was holding in his hand.
He constantly had the sanctuary in mind.
And he simultaneously chanted.
While he was listening to the Ison
he felt the whole Byzantium within him
and its timeless spirit
when he spoke with him.
He was not talking with one man.
Nor with many.
But simultaneously with all of them.
A nation lived within him.
All the mosaic was within one tessera.
In order for the memory of the future not to be lost.