The colour has no caste no religion
Just fetterless as a crowned pigeon,
The sun never marks any division
What's red, green, black or saffron.

All the colour is a single entity,
Like the author's artistic creativity;
And upon the asleep city
The moon mirrors itself - the beauty.

The colour is a life of how to live-
Taking a role of a new leaf,
It is a sugarcoated rose you sip
How orphean! Do believe.

Money is not a verb to the colour
That a poet knows very well:
A girl of not going to parlour
She is pretty still, at cottage dwell.