Where Art Lives | Bruce Tuyishime

A girl in bare feet hums by the gate,
Sketching dreams in the dust, shaping fate.
Her crayons are broken, colors worn thin.
Still, sunsets bloom on pages from within.

A boy drums beats on a dented tin can,
Eyes closed, lost in rhythm like only he can.
Not a spectator in sight, no flashing light,
But the rhythm holds him through the night.

In corners where coins are few and far,
A dancer spins beneath a flickering star.
No stage, no crowd, no satin shoe,
Just soul and motion, bruised but true.

A mother crochets in silence deep,
Telling stories her heart must keep.
Each loop, a prayer. Each thread, a song.
No one is watching, but it’s still strong.

If art belonged only to gold and glass,
Would these soft flames be left to pass?
But look, God plants it everywhere:
In hands that shake, in eyes that stare.

More like life, art is not a thing you buy.
It’s a whisper, a cry, a hum, a painted sky.
It lives! Find it where life is raw and real,
In every hand that dares to feel. Amen.

Blue is how they speak when words fall short. A creative designer and poet, he blends color and language to express thoughts that bruise or heal. Through textured visuals and raw verse, he reveals what can’t be said aloud: soft truths, sharp realities, and everything in between, sometimes an Alien.