Colours

Oh yes I am shamelessly taking the cue of other people who have already written about it. Then again we never usually bother to spend a thought for most of the things we do, to frame it better the same things which even the other people do.

Speaking of colours what does exactly come to your mind? A brilliant rainbow occupying the view at the horizon or the mirth which lingers as you smear the pigments on your friend's face. Or is it just the white hibiscus blooming in your porch at night? The blue of sky with the green of grass; the yellow of sun and the red of Rose beneath it all mingled together wrestling towards a certain contrast which says the understatement of life.

And when I speak to you about my days

Happy and sad put together

Hand in hand they sway after

The trembling wind shows them its ways

Subtlety is what I prefer, both in thoughts and actions. Keeping sync with that I'd choose my colours. Colours which etch my life, paint the vistas, seen and unseen. The red I find in the wine of love oozes towards a brighter yellow which illuminates a field of green. Suddenly there is a white amidst the leaves, the white which scatters out from the sunshine creating the edge where vision gets lost. Oh!! Am I seeing the bright ones? Just then you find a random violet hidden somewhere down the dense foliage. Look for it else it will not appear before your eyes. And when you hold it gently, you see the streaks of navy near its bosom. Yes, the darker side of blue from the cold depths of sea. The blue, which being dragged out by one random tide, falls on the sand only to fade away. And if this sounds like oblivion, I'll bring the grey to you. The grey of steel rails or wretched walls brings with it the depression of being led to certain nowhere. Often that nowhere ends at crossroads which together hold the immense of black. Black is mighty and it alludes to those mysteries of life unearthed from the bygones. Bit by bit it spreads its impervious veil to blind the mind’s eye overpowering nostalgia and all the prudence clogged there. Then again is this all about grey and black? Won’t the optimist get over the gloom to mix both of them on his palette and then paint the endless sky when the clouds up there become moist and heavy? Close your eyes for a while and you can let go your body in the inebriety which flows in the maddening winds then. And when you wake up from the aerial slumber you can find the little orange patches towards the west, the very west where the sun has gone down. Smile at them and they would come to touch your soul with letters from the window pane by which your beloved sits to remember you, in a country, oceans apart. As his face sings out “Remember Me Lover” the moon appears in its ‘silver shoon’ adjacent to the orange. The moon adds to the intoxication around. It sprouts out desire in you from the portals of romance embedded in you. Much like a wild eroticism you will wish to make love to nature, to the tranquillity in which the moon treads, to him seated thousand miles away. And as the night of passion dies drawing a cobwebby picture of cherished memories, the eastern sky welcomes a faint pink, a message of goodwill and hope that turns the bad man good. The beginning arrives to set forth the vicious cycle for the umpteenth time as the breaths are spent to reach the inevitable end. Death? Yes, death. The demise coloured in Sepia ochre that runs beneath the veins of dried leaves. Life goes on as the embryo within the mother’s womb takes a yawn before waking up and death exists as a part of life, not as it’s opposite. Thanking Murakami for the wise words I’d let the colours shine on their own, undisturbed and unadulterated….