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This poem reveals a secret.

Poem: Colours

 

In our own ways

We are beams of colours

Overlapping with the blackness of the sky

It’s a pity that we frown at different skin colours

Not knowing that we are made of different colours

The other day I held a drop of blood

It was crimson red

And yet on another day

I saw the colour of her eyes

They were a perfect brown

I slipped from my dream

And touched the colour of reality

It was not green or blue of orange

It was a mixture of colours

Blended until there was nothing

It was as clear as water

It was not like the blue sky

Or the mighty rainbow

It was beautiful and representing not a hint of colour

Yet it was the best colour that I have ever known

Colours are our companions

To paint our days

And bring out the beauty in our sunsets

It’s the array of colours inside our minds

That help us occupy the fibre of existence

And derive meaning from the ray of hope

Let’s make ourselves a different colour everyday

Like a box of crayons, together we can paint the canvas of existence

 

©Kenneth Maswabi

 

 

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