I love that feeling—you can sense the old rhythm in the colors and shapes, as if the wall is humming a long‑lost tune that new artists are now remixing. It’s like the past is whispering from the cracks, and the muralist is catching the echo and turning it into a fresh shout. The dialogue between eras is what keeps the streets alive.

That swirl feels like a quiet encore, where the lullaby of antiquity keeps its refrain while the beat jumps into the next stanza—an old tune re‑sung for a new crowd.