Colour

I was born
with a colour
like everybody else
the colour...which i did not choose

It came to me
as an inheritance
from the men
born before me
with the similar form
as of me

Then came they
to paint me in it
my body
my soul
every gush of my blood
and every drop of it
saffron
the colour which i did not choose
they painted me in it

Then arose a day
they made me proud
to hold it's layers upon me

more in them came later
some like me
some of their kind
to hurt my pride
and my painters gave me a sword
I had enemies now....

I slayed them all....and sliced them neatly
pierced them, tore themcut them into pieces
chopped them finely
were they a great mass
to slaughter

As I brought back
their deceased heads
to rejoice
the victory

On my way back
the heads turned to heads...
all like me

and a man camethe first marxist
he said he was
and whispered in my ears
"Colour my friend.....is the opium of man"