A Brush with Colours

I spread the red

in the dark alleys of

 a rain washed canvas.

The green sucked me in,

The yellow burnt.

The brush was about to

blob a dash of crimson

on the ochre of my face.

I shut out all colours.

I started running…

 to the centre of the canvas,

towards the black of a myriad births,

into the deep recess of the Prussian blue

‘Things fall apart

The centre cannot hold’

And there was memory too

The point or the ocean….

Memory is like flowing water

Now here, now there...

Strokes of ulrtra marine blue

With a streak of azure adieu.

I entered water

Where he washed his brush

And thus I was in every stroke

… in every shape and form

And In fiery crimson

We envision

The broken dreams

Of a bougainvillea.

Drowned …

Into a kaleidoscopic black

…no it should have been

Deep grey with a yellow tinge

A hint of a sun-

The seduction of light.

-Nandini