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Aug 2020
I am red,
And green,
Beguiling but messily combined paint.
I am no solid twenty four-carat pigment,
I am two.
Muddled with chaos and heaps of emotion,
I am two.
When I spin and whirl on a canvas,
The stains and smears exhibit a rainbow spectrum,
Of ruby red,
A crowned head on a scarlet throne,
Like maple leaves on the peak of an autumn tree,
And emerald green,
The hidden leaves amid the cluster of ripe autumn maples on the tree,
Gripping onto its limbs and aiming not to fall with the season,
Like crescent moons and hidden stars of virtue and peace.
Oh the green leaves on maple trees!
Rest In Peace.
The colour that bleeds with passion whilst you’re dancing in a crimson dress,
And the colour that oozes from the living world within you onto the soil you meditate on to give life to fields and fields of grass.
Mixing and mixing of two that don’t match,
You end up with a frenzied mess,
I am no solid colour.
I’m twirling with streaks of red and green,
Like the colourful veins displayed on your wrist,
Adding flavour to your naked skin.
At times it’s unchallenging to express both colours equally,
But every so often one colour tramples over the other.
Mixing and mixing,
Yet sometimes the performance is brown and bland,
It’s like the paint has given up.
It relentlessly inquires it’s hue and identity,
And clouds its stripes of beauty with shade.
Lack of purpose covered in brown,
And the paintbrush,
It just keeps pirouetting.
The red blotch of paint,
Or the green blotch,
Which am I?
How can I pick which is better,
Which I choose to exhibit to others,
When I am two,
And not a solid colour?
I dance on paper as maple leaves and crescent moons,
But as I glide across a meadow of colourless white snow,
The red and green alter their enacting sequence.
Along a highway brimming with prismatic dancers,
Paving through fields of white snow,
I’m ridiculed for my green veins,
And shamed for the red.
The eye of lookers in a museum gape at my canvas smeared with unfamiliar abstract art,
Their mockery destroys the hued bands in the paintbrush’s bristles.
Oh the red and green paint,
Diverges into a river of brown,
Along a colourless slate.
The paint just wanted to be perfect for them,
But blending and blending of the two colours,
Created a pointless living soul,
A figure split in two,
So very disarrayed.
I am of two,
I am no solid colour.
I won’t tear this paper nor this road for solely red or green.
On one paper,
One road,
And one being.
I will dance with a mismatching blend of crescents,
And maple leaves,
Because I’m not ashamed of expressing two.
I am Pakistani Canadian,
I am two.
Farzeen Rashid
Written by
Farzeen Rashid  16/F/Surrey BC Canada
(16/F/Surrey BC Canada)   
22
   Imran Islam
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