Thursday, 7 November 2013


Stale beers, never old,
The brazen bitterness, never enough,
The warmth of two sets of pearls against freezing cheeks,
The slight torture in stepping down a large flight,
The dusty sunlight, and the smell of cinnamon tea,
The torn spine of that bulk of a book,
The crossing of same face every morning,
The time,
Of lonesomeness, and then again,
Warming up to a soul,
The tinted nature against the dry coolness,
And all you see is,
The brightening and paling of patinas,
When is it, will you understand,
How colourful a death can seem?

Until next time.



  1. Death is colourful because it blends in so many emotions beautifully and has them dominated by the driving emotion-fear. I have had my fair share of romanticism with death. Now I prefer life. In black and white.

    1. Death has never been colourful. it renders everything in the dark shades it dons. It's made colourful by the dead.

  2. I prefer winter and fall,
    When you feel the bone structure of the landscape.
    The loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter.
    Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn't show.
    ~Andrew Wyeth

    You luv winter! Don't U :)

  3. some say that when it comes, you see a bright light. i believe, when it goes, there is no light. it does not bring light, it takes it. it does not bring colour, it fakes it. for fact remains, black is not the presence of colour, its the sheer absence of it. and the grays one sees, they are merely just light drowning into the dark black sea. death, isn't absolute, it isn't a moment, it is but a constant, like eternity which even life as we see it or as we don't can never be.

    thank you lady. reading you, is like being alive again.


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