The Seven Colours

N.B.: A few concepts have been reused.

Dancing shadows—

Flickering flames of rebellion

Made an impression on the blurred pane,

While outside, raindrops

Wetted lives, or

Flooded dreams.

A child gave a thought:

“Can rainbows come up at night?”

Morning—

Amidst drenched walls and shattered pathways

Of life,

Seven colours appeared on the smoky sky—

Incongruous it seemed.

A child from the terrace of a multi-storey building

Asked his father, “Isn’t that beautiful!”

But straight below—

Where the stark miseries of life seemed comfort,

Where raindrops seemed as innumerable as miseries,

Gaunt lips—

No water, no shape—

Failed to savour the colours.

Smoke-filled eyes—

No gleam, no sorrow—

Being blinded, withdrew.

While these went unnoticed,

I was still watching the rainbow.

Red—

The blood of desire;

Steaming thoughts and

The desire of red rebellion

On a new day—

A new day.

Orange—

“Fruit?” asked the dying child;

“Delicious!” said the parvenu.

Yellow—

Sodium lights still dared to shine

Under the sun—

“Paddy fields?” asked the beggar.

Green—

The life of humanity—

Pervaded the city;

While crooked brown leaves

Near green grass,

Lay in shame.

Blue—

By the side of a blue river,

A heartbroken soul sat weeping,

Desiring to die.

While by the sides of a ‘blue’ drain,

Hundred souls were counting their last hours,

Desiring to live.

The sun hid its face

And the rain came down—

“Rainbows don’t come up at night”

Said I to myself.