by Srinivas S
In elegance that’s mute,
Within a rainbow’s roots,
Before the sight of light,
Ere insights enter sight,
Imagined but unlit,
The colour of silence is violet.
In depths that seek the soul,
At dusk, ere skies turn coal;
On fingers stained by ink,
In bubbles at the brink,
Espied and just let go,
The colour of silence is indigo.
In sadness weaved from wool,
When distant mountains pull;
In sapping summer air,
As oceans, warm, despair;
Perceived but not perused,
The colour of silence is blue.
In thoughts that need no words,
In spring that jails no birds,
In nature’s rain-cooled heart,
In lives that tutor art,
Unsung but always seen,
The colour of silence is green.
In smiles that take no sides,
In daylight, minus pride,
In sunflower-y mist,
In gossip without grist,
Though cheerful quite mellow,
The colour of silence is yellow.
In sacrifice sans hope,
On sunsets shorn of tropes,
In rags that dress up Naught,
Twixt ying and yang, and fraught;
Discerned as not deranged,
The colour of silence is o-range.
In rage that’s found no say,
As rainbows fade away,
On distant forest fires,
In bottomless desires,
Observed but seldom read,
The colour of silence is red.
***
In shadows spawned by light,
The colour of silence is white;
In lightning torn from dark,
The colour of silence is black;
Between them slumbers grey,
In silence’s primeval bays.
