Yellow is my favorite colour.
I can see no more,
but I feel.

I feel it
when I eat ‘dal’ and suck on mangoes.
The taste tells me if it is yellow.
I am a slow eater now,
I try to savour the colours more.

I feel it,
when I sit by the window
and the warm sun washes my face.
I close my closed eyes, absorb the warmth, wondering if it’s more orange today!

I feel it,
in the warm and fresh laundry heap on my bed.
I hug them and bury my head.
I rub my nose on them- wondering what
smells yellow has.

I feel it,
When I touch my old books.
They say- torn and old pages
turn yellow.
I trace my fingers all over-
wondering if yellow feels like
forgotten and dusty.

Was my dog’s collar yellow?
And the kitchen door?
or was it the marble floor?
Who knows?

If I try really hard,
I think I see yellow everywhere.
Yellow little spots dancing in all the black.
They gradually grow,
and engulfs everything.
Maybe the black absorbs all.
Maybe yellow adds to the blackness.

Yellow, now, is a boat
slowly moving away from the shore.
Appearing tinier and tinier
until I remember no more.


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