A Blossom of Colours

The colour has no caste no religion Just fetterless as a crowned pigeon, The sun never marks any division What's red, green, black or saffron. All the colour is a single entity, Like the author's artistic creativity; And upon the asleep city The moon mirrors itself - the beauty. The colour is a life of how to live- Taking a role of a new leaf, It is a sugarcoated rose you sip How orphean! Do believe. Money is not a verb to the colour That a poet knows very well: A girl of not going to parlour She is pretty still, at cottage dwell.