The Theatre

A mosaic of thousand yellowish shades, carpetted the sky of the theatre, renovated- the monotonous smell of cool, foaming air (made and sealed), black chairs, wrought; flashing popcorn glimmers, backs etched by capacious hearts- thinking others' minds, proclaiming their verdicts. The screen, now void, like white wrapping the dead, brooding like lukewarm milk, would spit brimming colours, shun the mosaic sky. Some crazy dance of a drunkard talking colours.