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I like the bright ones;

Pink, blue, maroon.

Sometimes I even go bold

And paint my nails yellow!

Mother hated the black phase;

Dad didn’t really understand the point of the nude one.

My brother still can’t believe

That I spend time and money on elaborate nail art.

But I like the colors;

They make my world bright.

Shiny, matte; I experiment with all of them.

Silver, gold; is there any color left?

I really can’t decide on a favorite.


The man outside the shop was waiting.

As soon as I turned to the empty alleyway,

I heard his footsteps hurrying behind me.

I heard his breath; raspy and uneven.

I smelt his smell; rum and cigarettes.

I felt his arms; strong and unyielding.


The struggle ended soon enough.

I didn’t expect to be this calm.

Stumbling, I reached the main road.

A woman passed by carrying a grocery bag.

She gave me an odd look;

I still had the rock in my hand.


Red, I think. That’s my new favorite color.


Note: An attempt at poetic “turn”.

10 thoughts on “Color

  1. This will be one of the poems which shall come to my mind when I’ll think of red. The ‘turn’ works very well. I loved the last line, answer to a previously unanswered question. Publish it soon!


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