THE COLOURS IN ME
(AND YOU)

In a children’s school, a fine spring noon

Overflourished by colours, bright

And smiling faces. They are painting today, 

To welcome the slow yet certain rise of spring,

As the mist dilutes the warmth of the sun. 

 

They are mixing colours, in palettes

Perhaps too small for those tiny hands.

They should be painting, stroking their brushes

In strange ways across the canvas. 

But they relent, lost in the joy of mixing, 

Eager to see what shade emerges

A bit of yellow, a dash too much of red, 

And too little of the blue that almost spilled.

They should be painting now,

But still, they mix.

 

Maybe this is how the inner self is made,

Like the shade forming on their canvases

Innocent strokes and scraping shaping 

The soul, picking pieces of themselves. 

A bit of despair from the blue, over a lost teddy bear

Extra yellow for the energy, that seems

To never fade away. And a hint of green

For disgust, turns out to be a little too much

So, a trace of white to soften its edge

And finally, red for the angst

No, love.

 

Still mixing, but getting close. Soon

Enough they’ll be there. 

Some with the colour thick, compact,

Others, watery and flowing

One turns out dull, the other bright, 

And pastel for the curly haired girl. 

Muted tones for two boys-

Each different from the other.

 

But in the end, none of this matters

The colours are beautiful

Like the shades of spring.