Home is the Perfect Colour

Rahul Misra
Mar 1, 2018 · 1 min read

Outside the sorry skyscrapers tower to the heavens,
ladders knocking on a sky too tired to open the

door & say hello. They say the weather is
coloured by the mood of the Gods but here

is a drape of clouds hiding the Ferris wheel on
the Thames. Why do they call this river their father?

I always thought there is something quietly
feminine about a drop of water, a longing which

consumes like a beautiful drowning. Across the
mountains and deserts, Ganga ma dives into the

ocean & the air is lush with her sprinkled song. I
may not know her tears anymore but if I close my

ears I can still see in her bosom the dazzling sound
of a thousand colours.

Author’s Note: Happy Holi :)

Rahul Misra

Written by

I write mostly poetry, and some fiction. You may find an essay in my feed once in a while. Email: rahul.misra.writes@gmail.com

Rahul Misra

Written by

I write mostly poetry, and some fiction. You may find an essay in my feed once in a while. Email: rahul.misra.writes@gmail.com

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