Colour
By Aashiq S
Normal was her morning,
And those late nights were already dark.
Living needed proof of people,
Who were all busy inside frames.
And the canvas was already white,
The strokes were shades of black;
Some stressed, some anxious.
I accidentally broke the bottle,
Stranger senses were waking up,
I was drenched in it.
Sometimes I wonder
what languages are spoken beyond this brittle glass?
What school is sprouted from the class?
There is horizon beyond this limit.
But to scale the sense of air,
embracing pair for every sounding sound require,
A random silence out of reasonable roar,
Hungry needles seeking for more,
And the answer is there, beyond that new sense,
and the process is a privilege.
Yet the reflection is still grey,
And the siblings,
the old new members crowded in comfort are too.
Did ‘I’ got into my dreamy self
And left alone my sleeping yelp?
Inspired by my friend and promising Kannada language writer Suvarna (pen name : Varna meaning ‘Colour’ and ‘Letter’. Her works mainly focuses on the suppressed life of womanhood by tradition and society.
©Aashiq S
India
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