the room has been painted
grey or so it appears..it hadn't been always so. i close my eyes and try
to remember, i do, it's vivid in its red; bleeding walls... full of
life. but then who painted it grey? something happened since i last
slept, it is only the memories which are colourful, i percieve only
bleakness around..but how long and how often can we close our eyes and
live in memories...if only.
it hadn't been always so, or has it been? is it my mind who's doing the painting just to keep alive. hope? but it couldn't be, how could my eyes give colour unless it had seen it before with these very eyes? i could ask my blind friend, but he's so preoccupied with his blindness. he reproaches me for my luxury of vision. i wish i'd born blind just to know if my memories would still be coloured, but then the memories would be of fragrance and music- the blind bastard answers.. then he's despondent, everything is stinking including me.. so what is grey to my eyes are just discordant notes for his ears..
have we both lost. have we all lost... i could answer, but what then is there to keep alive.hope?
PS: are the yesterdays always more colourful than our futures? or is it that we expect the too much from the vividness we have dreamt? (too many questions than there are answers, and they are all written in grey)
it hadn't been always so, or has it been? is it my mind who's doing the painting just to keep alive. hope? but it couldn't be, how could my eyes give colour unless it had seen it before with these very eyes? i could ask my blind friend, but he's so preoccupied with his blindness. he reproaches me for my luxury of vision. i wish i'd born blind just to know if my memories would still be coloured, but then the memories would be of fragrance and music- the blind bastard answers.. then he's despondent, everything is stinking including me.. so what is grey to my eyes are just discordant notes for his ears..
have we both lost. have we all lost... i could answer, but what then is there to keep alive.hope?
PS: are the yesterdays always more colourful than our futures? or is it that we expect the too much from the vividness we have dreamt? (too many questions than there are answers, and they are all written in grey)
