The Colour Of Water

A poem — poetry (Inspired by village folks struggling and walking miles for water)

The Color of Water

If a crazy soul asks what
I would wish to be if not
the flesh captured as the human skin,
would my answer be
the element called water,
pure, drinkable and great
revered even without
tangible human sack.

Honest and glittering with transparence
open to all, never biased and wrong
feeding the green
gratifying the belly alive
satiating soul of the dead

Forever ready to flow
free and no clan
there is, it belongs to;
water is its own breed
its own cult and clan.

What is the color of water,
There is no color of water!

Yes, without a hesitation
I would be the water,
it is inside me as life
I carry the ocean of it.

It leaves no color behind
just a sign of its passing
Just a trail of its existence.

No race, no caste
no bias, no belongings
it knows no friends no foes.
because water has no color no order,
maybe that is the color of water!


Prasant Trivedi. All Rights Reserved.

Thank you for reading this poem.

A Sincere Note: Not everybody is fortunate enough to get or waste as much water as we have in urban and semi-urban settings. There are still thousands of people living in rural settings and villages, walking miles barefoot, every day even on inimical summer days, just to fetch a pot or two of water that lasts for the day.

The poetic verses above remind me of the reality stoically borne by many strugglers out there. They are the inspiration!

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Prasant Trivedi

Writer of poetry and articles. Autoimmune survivor. Fiction reader. Write about life, experiences, literature, humanity, nature, memories, self and society.