by Suparna Ghosh

Colour is not just a pigment of my imagination

gleaned from the veins of leaves
and the blood of stems
garnered from pulsating pollen
crumbling dried thickets
hewn from the core of ores
ammolite malachite iolite
bloodstones oozing red
copper dust from earth’s womb
angry ash from a forest fire
charred red soil of an island
from plumes left behind
by parrots and puffins
a moth’s gossamer wings

Colour is not just a whim on my canvas

It’s a centrifugal fire which rises
from the bowels
and fills my eyes

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