Dull silver silk slipping through my travelling fingers.
Metal bees buzzing past others with upright stingers.
Concrete flowers bloom as a final plea to the heavens.
But they are hushed by grey rainbows as their pain deepens.
Colours of the rainbow? They fell on to steel boxes of function.
But as they fell, they turned ugly around each intersection and junction.
Flowers abundant only in temples and no more do they grow wild.
Like a mother being offered her wounded child.
We ate all our cookies all these years in plenty.
But now we are stingy as the jar is gradually empty.
The inspirations of many were adorned by diamonds and gold.
And today they walk with black ear buds so cold.
I want that teal horizon splattered now and then with red.
Just beyond my black slumber slowly creeping on to my bed.
But when I turn over I want the silhouettes that zigzag across grey.
Bearing pride and promise for tomorrow and every other day.
Can’t we have both worlds, grey towers as well as vast greens?
Maybe if we try we can hope for a world that preens.
Will we ever give up preaching the things that we don’t do but know?
Should we ever give up teaching and let them learn as they grow?