The celebrations of colours and its absence in the life of a woman in an evocative verse by Saheli.
At the height of spring she had forever searched for
colours of a rainbow.
She borrowed, she begged, she stole.
Aquamarine pangs of the roaring sea,
Staring blues of the mighty streams,
Luscious red of rose petals fallen on temple stairs,
twined with the green leaves of sleepy bushes.
Blinding crimson of the morning sun raging
through the dark clouds of a starry night.
For she knew only white,
Hidden behind closed doors she smeared
her white drape, she was forced to wear at her husband’s pyre.
they were not hers.
Yet her young palms
stared greedily to hold the colours sold at shops.
Her tears wished to scorch the pain bought at the widow’s stall,
her dreamy heart yearned to play
blending the season of colours
till her drape forgot its icy white shade.
Yet, she was told to refrain,
Her white was to be white
Not a colour to drop by the snowy ground laid bare for her.
Pix from Net.