A burning hue of passion and fire;
A dull shade of a pigeon or tyre;
A shimmering colour of happiness and sunshine;
Or a delicate colour of seas and skies.
A midnight pigment of darkness and night;
Or a pure one maybe of snow and light;
A royal tone of emperors and nobility;
Or perhaps one of spring grass and tranquility.
A spectrum of colours, so many to see;
Made in this world as epitomes of beauty;
There’s subtle beige and obscure malachite;
There’s entrancing turquoise and there’s bright white.
Rainbows, trees, a simple flower;
All have within them some great power;
To sway the mind and entrance the soul;
To lead one down a deep black, no, a deep, colour hole.
By Saanya Verma