Skip to main content

Some Colours I Know.

-AAKRITI THATAL 

Sheltering a multitude of colours under it,
BLUE- A Feeder, a Shelter, a Holder.
Blue is Deep and Wise,
Confident and Divine.
Blue is food to the mind.
Blue scatters much, not bothering the eye.
Blue is Phenomenal, Omnipresent. 
Blue is Truth and "TRUTH SHALL PREVAIL".
Blue is Replete.

Boxed inside Blue, free, is a shade I am fond of;
The shade which I paint and show and display.
The colour with and in which I grew.
The world where I grasp and learn and round off.

Under the Big Blue is a tinge of YELLOW;
Always Together.
Happy. Warm. Cheerful.
Exercising the humour and grasping attention;
Yellow is pleasant.
Yellow, eccentric.

Yellow polarizes, yet it shines.
Yellow is forever Ebullient. 
Yellow, Mild.

Ambitious about its scattering just as much as Blue's, GREEN is covetous.
Harmonizing with Red, Gray, Brown and White;
Green is a symphony- Mellifluous and Calm.

An imbecile, an innocent;
Green is a child, trying
Trying to Learn.
Trying to Reach.
Trying ALL ITS MIGHT. 

Green permeates to reach out to the deepest burrows,
Green Protects.
Green is Fastidious. Meticulous.

CHANGES OCCUR.
PHENOMENA HIT.
MAUDLIN DEROGATORY.
MENDACIOUS FIT. 

A Paradox.

When the blue turns Gray, firing bolts
It is green that shelters the living 
and ingests the dead.
The lightning kills.
Where is the yellow?

When the blue turns Black
And the green darkens along,
Where is the yellow?

For what yellow does can be 
Synthesized into a filament 
of tungsten and gas.
But green?

Blue sees light and life in yellow.
But what is life with nothing but just light?
Light that stays for hours and sways
Away when the blue turns dark?

Is it yellow or,
is it green that stands?
Holding, taking in, bearing.

Yellow?
Yellow is an artifice. 
Yellow, a fabrication. 

Only if Green was Powerful,
Only if Green was as Profound as Blue.

Had Green lived as short as Yellow
Green would be valued, more.

Would Green be Valued, at all? 

Oh! My Patent Foolishness. 

Blue is Vast.
Blue is Deception.
Blue, Poison. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Fag.

-Aakriti Thatal Lighting Her first cigarette, Inhaling the smoke, the heat and the pang: She let her colours show And Her wings out. She shone. Brighter than the flame igniting her fag, did she shine. The flakes fluttering in the void, glowed'. Orange. Vibrant. She was Happy. The other smiled there, the passive smoker. Smiled. Smiling. Smile. Smile? The cigarette was Blithe. Life. She lived One. With cigarettes taking her breath little-by-little, did she live. She lived Once. Taking in the last puff, She smiled, hollow. Pain. End. Life. Once. One. Cigarettes. Her inhaler. Little did it take for the bright flakes fluttering, turn Gray. A very short while. Ash. They were Happy for a very short while.
6 comments
Read more

Power

-AAKRITI THATAL. I look at myself, sometimes; Superficially. The skin- Dark. Gloomy.  I go deeper. Not skin-deep. Deeper beneath.  Choking, struggling to break free from  A life that is only a Lie.  A Lie- Cold and Intolerable.  With cavernous darkness emanating  From the grotto of 'the core'- The Heart.  A Lie, I am unaware of. Crawling and flowing through every vein in my body; A piece of me, ephemeral.  My eyes are dark and criminal. So many things seen but not shown.  'Views', unfathomable, Actions, unpleasant to the soul.  These eyes have seen the others Shine and also cry; These eyes have lived long enough to 'just die'.  Trepidant lips, trying to utter words to expedite emotions; Trying to jerk up a lip into a word. Struggling the best to make my feelings and thoughts more accentuated.  These lips have a multitude of tales to tell. I WISH I HAD THE POWER.  I WISH PEOPLE KNEW.  I WISH
5 comments
Read more
I used to draw flowers when strong desires in me sprang,  To maneuver things to have my way.  I coddled those desires in me for they were almost definite and such promise kept me impelled. They were scattered here, and blotched there,  However, they were outward.  Those evocative desires punctured every stub of confusion and left me aching for more display, more flowers. Those plump, pretty flowers would pucker publicly and throb with clear pulse,  Almost loud, almost definite, almost tangible.  The flowers withered. They wilted, uncared for.  They wilted upon strenous trials of colouring them with self-indulgence,  And not letting them breathe at their pace. / Today, a wall exists where used to be flowers; my hands no longer draw them.  In trying to paint geometric, precise, absolute figures; the imperfect, raw, sincere flowers sagged.  My hands are now entrapped, not engrossed.  I view the outcome from this distance and refuse to appreciate the brick wall, but cannot appreciate the f
Post a Comment
Read more