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OUR COLOURS

-AAKRITI THATAL 

 Lately, 
In the hope that the hollowness in this
Cold core meets some warmth with the intrusion of your voice, 
I try to start a conversation. 

A voice not conceived by these ears of mine for time as old as itself. 
Parked near the cab I get into is the one 
That used to take me to your lavender room 
Where smokes of Grey pain and Blue mellow would 
Meet and give us Red passion.

I flip pages in notebooks and journals trying to 
Remember what the torn pages had in them.
Trying hard as hardness itself to eradicate 
The knowledge in me of you burning it all away.

I think of not thinking 
Of memories You and I made. 
Try to subdue these emotions in the heartless core of mine. 
What's bothersome is that I have moved,
But left behind are
The colours of You and I.

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