Yellow.

 


Yellow is the warmth of the sun

softly sliding 

- through the windows of your room,

Gently kissing your forehead 

After a long night's sleep. 

Yellow blends well with the butterflies 

tickling your abdomen

before the big day at work,

beneath deep layers of sweaty palms 

and breath-in, breath-outs.

Yellow hides itself entirely

within the bustling crowd at the stadium,

- in your hometown

cheering for your favourite team.

Yellow is the shade spread 

all over the kitchen walls

that spot a mother feeding her children

- a little more than what's left for her. 

Yellow smells like caramel popcorn

at the movies

- medium-sized with butter on the sides,

rightly settling your sugar cravings.

Tucking a lone strand of hair behind my ear, 

he asked 'what colour is yellow?'

I held his palm and placed it over the daffodils 

- we planted on the twenty-fifth birthday

of the born-blind man I'm in love with,

Briskly he smiled until his eyes gleamed. 

Inking this poem in Braille, I said

'this is yellow'.

-J.

Comments

Post a Comment

Feel free to share your thoughts and ideas if any! :)

Popular posts from this blog

To My Younger Self,

Image
You are a girl. Know how you will never be told  Of Cinderella who killed her step mother later when she was the Queen. Or how Ariel, the mermaid, almost killed the prince  soon after he married someone else. They're all afraid you'd know how a stranger  made love with the sleeping beauty,  all without her consent. You are a girl. You are never told the tales of the strong, of the women with imperfections. They won't tell how adorable your dreams And scars on your wrists are, And how they need not be hidden anymore. You are a girl. You are more than just geometry, or failed attempts at symmetry. You are more than your curved lines and edges and body angles. You are more than your body. You are to grow up to be the woman, With real flaws and issues of your own. Grow up, not to be a princess in wait of her prince charming, to get rescued. Grow up to be the Queen of your kingdom.       ...
Read more

Everyday Little Things.

Image
[10] Numbers now are more than just mathematics They're lives and deaths. They're survivors. [9] It's watching the sky steadily spill out  a salmon spread,  seems like setting the sun asleep after another awful day. [8] Now that we wake up to no alarms, but to nothingness. Monday morning blues on a break or are they prolonged until long. [7] How home isn't just bricks and walls, It's the people within.  Baking cakes and family dining, counting numbers, jointly. [6] For how the screens hold us  wholly exhausted and agitated. Many parted from loved ones, longing for their warmest hugs. [5] It's walks not across the streets. But cherishing old Polaroids Gloomy songs on loop, The scents of beloved still afresh. [3] SKIP is all we wish for now. Unaware if the nations Are holding diplomatic debates or plotting strategies to end it all. [2] It's //We are all in this, togethe...
Read more

Growing Up.

Image
A t the age of 10, The earth for me, was all flat. Disputes often put off/In exchange  of a toffee or two. Watching clouds move  Hunting rainbow tails for gold  And witty stories of the hare, were daily doses of joy. By the age of 15, I knew it all, i thought. Broken vases/forgotten friendships Wishing over fallen eyelashes and shooting stars. Keeping diaries was an art. Love was the boy, With a cute smile and blushed cheeks. I'll be 19 in a month. Is the skin bruised or my heart I'm perplexed. I go on long walks, all alone. One down the memory lane. I knew, Growing up is all magical. It's growing out of cradles and uniforms, Of fancy habits/foolish fantasies, And growing out of toxic men. It's much like  the autumn that sees its leaves  wither and die. For the newborns to gleam all green Under the radiant sky.                       ...
Read more