It reminds me of the time when I had started painting,
when I had given life to my perceptions with brushes,
on a white sheet of paper.
when I had given life to my perceptions with brushes,
on a white sheet of paper.
When I had painted the nature in its colours true,
and had made its beauty accrue,
with the trees green, the earth brown,
the sky azure and the water cobalt,
when it hadn’t been discoloured by the black of our ingenious practices.
When I had clubbed the saffron, the white and the green,
to portray harmony among the diverse,
without the fear of one smudging into the other.
When I had made the dove fly in pristine white,
without a single blemish on it.
The colours of the past had held on to their significance.
Have the colours of the present become aberrant
or have I become colourblind?
