Seemed everytime the bluest of blues it is
that bless me with the bolts.
The pedestal, which proudly sport you, my sapphire,
which pompously ranted of bearing your breath
seems to carry this purple pockmark ploughed on its face
Wait. Does it not show a hint of violet
that spells it stiff to trace
the seed of the scar?
Does my soul borrow its hue from there?
I know, you know, only we know – that
this purple strays from the ruby;
from the red, red ruby I wished and had –
That’s too precious though,
for my insipid crown to carry
That’s too much though,
for my ignorant self to own
Is this an ode to colours?
to the colours of this universe?
Colours that dye the spirits
that come transparent to this home
Colours that conceal the kinds, sometimes;
Colours that are inevitable though?
No, this isn’t of those colours.
These are the colours of me,
of the universe I preserve;
Colours that homed black darkness
in this putrid shell of mine
that hinted a grey, the only shade I ever remember;
a grey that always reminded of a shroud
This is for the colour of the soul
that was eternally singing the white swan’s song
With timeless threats of doom
and least hopes of silver rays
And one day came you, the orange sun,
in my indigo skies
With the greatest golden gleam
that pierced through the grey clouds
with ginger streaks that dried away my brown fears
The sun that added this yellow tinge to my maroon smiles
Smiles that used to hide mauves and majentas,
that had always turned blue and ended colourless.
My friend, my love, my soul!
In this brilliant universe of yours
that’s blessed with a hundred hues
I’m only too mean to not allow
new colours in your rainbow
Just because mine is achromatic
and so perhaps fails to reflect you
just because my soul seems stained
with the scars –
of longing for love
of fear of frustration
of guilt of gluttony
(of love, yours)
Nay, let me not leave my soul a bleeding red, red rose.
(Is Red not too ravishing to sweep so many Likes?)
This soul is pale – of an ever more pallid heart
that bears the fading colour of the falling petals
Limpid my love should be, I now guess.
so you can only see through it
so I’m not left wailing
that your love is but a compensation
for my lost fervours, for people and places and stuff.
Colourless my love should be, I now realize.
so I’m left free of guiltof grazing your green love
all to satiate myself;
of yearning for more coins of solace, in my beggar bowl.
Let my soul recommence
Seeking its solace
in the colours of music
in the colours of silence
and in the colours of my quiet thoughts
May you not be aware that my eternal search
is for you,
You – the headspring of my everflowing elixir
in the deepest of the deep crevices inside;
For you, my life-giving waters
colourless yet give the colour of my lifeblood.
Never did I know whence these waters take their start,
Never do I know the channels it traverse, the roads it cross
Never will I know where they head to
May I also never know
the hues of this vital water
So long as it gives me my life
I pray you tell me –
Is it true that the purest of the souls
are the whitest ones?
So, can my soul be white?
what if these white souls only have
a white that fakes,
a white that flies the flakes of flamboyance,
a white that isn’t white at all?
So, may I beseech
my soul stay colourless.
Let it be a crystal
the perfect platform for the colours to converge
Probably to reflect, in all its cuts,
You, only you.
(I pray you tell me
Do you still call the soul, that carries the colour of yours,
The soul of a sister? 🙂 )