"colourless" poems
I don't know why,
My feelings have died,
I am a fuckin' rock,
May be I have felt too much,
That I started to feel nothing.
Nothing seems new,
Nothing appears exciting.
May be this just happens with age,
Or may be I am just too bored of everything.
Everything feels less, everything feels void.
Morning breeze is chilling no more,
Rain doesn't wet me anymore,
Holi appears colourless,
Diwali not so illuminating any more.
Festivals now only means a holiday.
Outings are not so exciting.
***** doesn't effect me much.
What is it , does that happens with everyone or is it just me.!?
Where's all that excitement gone,?
Life has become monotonous and everything is blown!
What I need is a CHANGE.!
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 11:05 AM UTC
Life is colourful
But not in the way I'd like,
Its shades keep changing
From lemon to blue to burgundy,
Feels like I'm living
In a constant state of melancholy.
Tried hard not to stare
At the melody that kept swirling
In front of my eyes
And through my ears,
Sometimes I forgot breathing.
And it trapped me into the deep
Clawed hard to come up from beneath,
But it was hard to hold on
The walls were too steep.
Never thought I'd wish
For a colourless life of black and white,
Of boring creatures and ordinary sight..
Never thought I'd be the one
To want my seeds to sow,
To want my roots to dig deep and grow.
Maybe flowing with the wind
Is not for me,
Free-falling is not the same as flying,
Peter should leave me alone now,
I don't want to end up dying.
Thought I almost saw
Heaven from where I was,
But it lay barren
With no gates or guards,
Or even angels or gods,
Either the books or my mind are lying,
It is overrated to wish for dying.
But I made it through
Somehow I swam back ashore,
Fought the muddied waters that blinded me,
Somehow I found my door.
And to sanity I return,
With lessons and scars that still burn
It's good to look ahead with clarity,
It's good to be back to reality.
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 9:48 PM UTC
The eternal tango of the maestro manifests itself in nigh infinite ways.
With the flick of the artist's brush, the stroke of the novelist’s pen or the chicken scratch of the scholar’s nib, legacies are etched, history is written and the world is shaped.
The astronomer, the craftsman and the physician all have one thing in common: Mastery.
Such pinnacles of skill have decades of their lives consumed, nay devoured in the pursuit of perfection, of greatness. Like grains of sand slowly falling into a furnace are the seconds of our lives, trickling, melting into puddles. But as sand melts, it forms shapes; therein lies the potential. Moldable puddles, colourless, devoid of naught but a clear medium.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
Lost in his thoughts
With her eyes closed
Waking up from her fancy
By the call of a pigeon
With a message from him
Conveying to meet him
Near the river side
Of the Gulmohar tree
Hearing the trumpet of
The evening conch
With an acceptable smile
Ready in his favourite
Shining peach fruit dress
Wide eyes with black kajal
Long black hair decorated
With magical fragrance
Of buds of jasmine flowers
Colourful bangles filling
Her soft wheatish hands
With musical bands
Sitting under the flame tree
Decorated with beautiful
Orange-red Gulmohar petals
Waiting for her beloved
Lasting the wait till dawn
But never did he come
Flowing kajal with her tears
Turning her to black cheeks
Back to her despondency
Like a broken soul
Comes again the pigeon
With a message on its body
Written by human blood
Dear, move on in your life
I am, no more in this life
Jasmines giving an odour
Bangles becoming colourless
Kajal, blurring her vision
Falling down on the floor
With her eyes closing !
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 1:38 AM UTC
I am a wall,
A thick, stone wall,
At least a man,
Surrounded by walls.
I built them myself,
I'm sure it would help,
At least a little,
Those amazing walls.
From the outside it looks grey,
Thick colourless stones of pain,
Of no interest, of desolation,
In total isolation.
But inside, oh wow,
I've painted it with amazing colours,
And those very walls who keep people away,
Comfort me in ways indescribable.
The walls are lined with rich tapestry,
The floors of lush carpets and pillows,
The from the ceilings hang lights,
To illuminate a hundred rooms.
And yet, no one...
No one to share the beauty,
The richness of my inner walls,
The walls I made.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 9:09 AM UTC
How selfish of me,
to crave a happy ever after,
when I have already tasted forever
in a fleeting moment with you.
It was enough
to carve your name into my bones,
to make the world without you
feel smaller, emptier, colourless.
And yet…
if once was all I was given,
if forever was just a heartbeat,
then I would choose it again.
And again.
And again.
Because even as a wound…
our love was still the sweetest eternity.
Sep 22, 2025
Sep 22, 2025 at 7:29 PM UTC
I am a little bird born into this world
Naked.
Chirping lullabies to redwood treetops
and singing hymns to an almighty; getting back nothing.
I gathered up twigs and loose branches to build up
my nest––cropped out upbringing
for house fitting.
Waking up to noises––
of violent winds.
Pressing feathers to cover my ears,
and trusting my feet to hold me down.
Barricaded myself in worn bark,
from the impossibility of the threatening ecosystem.
Praying myself in place, hiding when morning shines and dressing in colours of damp green.
I’m something but I tell myself otherwise:
It’s too frightening to fly so I might as well cut off my wings.
No, that would be insensitive––don’t mind that, I’ll pluck them each time the feathers grow.
See I’m holding onto the something that makes me more than nothing.
Clipped wings seem more ideal than no wings.
For some reason I’m scared to let it all go;
silently hoping one day I’ll keep them, like them, love them and even spread them.
Noticed gathering leaves and flowers one day can add colour to a colourless lifestyle,
yet the wind wipes it clean the next––still pale brown and feels less like home than yesterday.
I may be afraid of everything,
but I know I’m more afraid of dying here alone;
whispering Mozartian melodies to dead butterflies.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 8:42 AM UTC
I am a colourless girl,
In my black and white world.
I long for some warmth,
To erase the cold and dark.
I hate this pain and fear,
My death I see is almost here,
I need a saviour,
To take me from my colourless world.
Mar 7, 2011
Mar 7, 2011 at 4:48 PM UTC
pinecones are
childhood summers spent tripping over the syllables of dense forests
folded somewhere between real world Europe and my very real imagination,
nestled against each other on bookshelves made of pinewood -
a childhood game of hide and go seek pressed in photo albums
where a version of me lived;
a version of me who delighted my mother and father,
a version who to me remains a stranger -
smiling gap toothed, shoes in snow boots,
sticky fingers pressing pine cones against her nose -
the present, a fragrance;
the future, a rolling pine forest.
pinecones are what the years between 17 and 19 felt like
in perennial wanderlust,
soul spliced into shards trying to make sense of
everything I felt and everything I thought;
everything I needed and everything I still want.
pine cones perfume the edges of a dream
dipped in the streams and stories of far-off lands,
pine cones are the crutches of a crippled mind
still building a new home for itself
in the basements of other people’s hearts.
pinecones are
platforms which I danced from,
leaping limber, slaying fear, the win always near;
pine cones are a reminder that while
a man can break his shoulder trying to tear one from the tree,
the true mark of bravery lies in how well you can break free.
pine cones are
the skeletons upon which hang the colourless drapes of my future
before stepping into galactic puddles that splash colour
all over every unmade plan,
memories’ strands shining technicolour through translucent skin -
the touch of your fingers no longer feel like sins.
pine cones are young green and supple,
seeds of love lust and chance encounters
that blaze into fiery shades of yellows and oranges,
every colour turning a tinge darker, a daily time marker;
pine cones are what remain, dark and unyielding
after a lifecycle of fires starting
and dying
within the embers of consciousness.
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 2:56 AM UTC
I took the plunge into your sea.
Oh, you know what?
I am now hooked forever
on it’s colourless colour.
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 12:57 PM UTC
as fortune turned his back on him
and hope got out of sight
the sun eclisped and love escaped
into the fading light
all on his own, betrayed, alone
no one even near
had denied the truth for too long
he stood and froze in fear
His silent screams remained unheard
they just died away
than finally he lost his faith
his whole world turned to grey
Shades of pale, diffuse light
colourless and dim
soundless echoes, ghosts of the past
whispering to him
How could he leave this zone of grey
He started to walk paths of shadow
substance blurred, he went astray
and for every step he stumbled on
he had to give a piece of his soul away
soon he'll be a wraith himself
last tribute left to give was his fear
awakening clearness stroke him hard
this would not be his end – not here
Ravishing beauty, colourful shades
how could he have been so wrong?
ignoring the welcome that twilight did offer
this was the place where he belonged
embraced the twilight, felt libidious power
recreated, completed, transformed
into someone new
but Twilight's kiss demands its own price
Now he'll be haunting you.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
It's almost 2am.
I'm kind of laying here in the hot, unnatural heat.
I miss you a little bit.
My insomnia has been bad lately.
I guess you're okay.
I'll just write about you for awhile until I drift off into the colourless world of pretend realitys promising to bring you back to me.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 8:39 PM UTC
Our every word that comes out
has the potential to **** when
your seemingly fragile but villainous
lips caresses my weaponed tongue
encouraging the venomous noise to be
reborn again and again.
Soft yet viscious touch.
I demand for more.
I urge for attention.
Patience is running thin!
I never even looked away from the
light in your eyes
but you were watching my entire flesh
burn and rot in the colours you gave me.
Dead.
When you left, all went dark
for the light in your eyes were
fires that burned too bright
and couldn't last.
It was then
when I was standing all alone
in the black hole you helped me create,
the one that ****** away everything I loved,
I realized that I was colourblind,
that your touch and your words
were bleach that sunk into my core,
leaving me only in black and white.
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 12:09 PM UTC
She came among us from the South
And made the North her home awhile
Our dimness brightened in her smile,
Our tongue grew sweeter in her mouth.
We chilled beside her liberal glow,
She dwarfed us by her ampler scale,
Her full-blown blossom made us pale,
She summer-like and we like snow.
We Englishwomen, trim, correct,
All minted in the self-same mould,
Warm-hearted but of semblance cold,
All-courteous out of self-respect.
She woman in her natural grace,
Less trammelled she by lore of school,
Courteous by nature not by rule,
Warm-hearted and of cordial face.
So for awhile she made her home
Among us in the rigid North,
She who from Italy came forth
And scaled the Alps and crossed the foam.
But if she found us like our sea,
Of aspect colourless and chill,
Rock-girt; like it she found us still
Deep at our deepest, strong and free.
2.9k
*the losers,
report me to
the bad poets society,
bad student loans , bad poems
bad boys and girls society
taste, head rearing, daring
elegance, shocking awe,
fk that looks it like be a poeming **** forming,
ah, the teenie weenies millies become white walking whiners
write a poem about the sky,
**never using the word blue black
or grey**
Then, use it to
tell me why the
Paris dead
matter
the most remarkable feature
of the sky is its endlessness,
no matter what the colour of the day be,
for what else can you point to
beside the sea,
that simply visible
has no boundaries?
I will tell you.
see my grieving rage
boundaryless,
for the Paris dead,
and there is no colour,
just one dead blanched black rose
placed upon my chest,
soiling my face,
a visible reminder that
forgetting is
endless, colourless,
rage and revenge
too*
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 9:40 AM UTC
Life has those tearful Moments,
When U need a Shoulder to cry on.
U find there's no one around U
and your Heart ends sighing on.
Life has those empty Moments,
that keeps eating on U.
U see the World Colourless,
and U end up feeling Blue.
Life has those silent Moments,
When U need someone to talk,
But there's hardly anyone around,
So U end up taking a walk.
Life has those scary moments,
When U feel, U are not good enough.
U go around tipping your Hat,
but still that's not enough.
Life has its beautiful Moments,
When at Night, U stare up at the sky.
U Wait for the Moon to show up
So U can wave it good-bye.
Oct 15, 2023
Oct 15, 2023 at 8:31 AM UTC
Long and lithe fingers,
comfort moulded into cones,
is where art kisses geometry
and meets one of its own.
Her hands are to touch
manicured and glazed,
you feel home and lost
a Pharaoh now, and next a waif
The nails, you find and wonder
filed for a student and trimmed.
Not a wisp of colour
bare as a bone, naked and skinned.
Snug in a life song,
a pallbearer of untold griefs,
they are a stark sight
of colourless coral reefs.
On but a blue moon,
they’re a savoury rare,
when hungry eyes feast
on the riotous fair.
Why, one day, I ask thee?
She would smile and wouldn’t tell.
‘Never felt like’,
is her No Comment.
May 1, 2021
May 1, 2021 at 12:25 PM UTC
When I saw her for the first time it wasn't admiration
It was awe mixed with a twinge of jealousy
Her perfection and her confidence intimidated me
When I first befriended her it wasn't just adoration
It was an obsession and a fixation
To be like her in thought and action
Till I learnt to be better than her without being enough
That was when the insecurity started
'Will I ever be enough?'
I wasn't enough at home, not fair enough or smart enough
I wasn't witty or flirtatious enough
I lacked guts and I lacked the temperament
Of a proper twelve-year-old.
I was a doormat and a pushover
Already coming undone at my seams
Trying to emulate perfection through blinded eyes
Every day I scoffed and surrendered to my picture of admiration
Trying to secure her own admission
'Will I ever be enough?'
Then she left me battling my own wars
Hers was to conquer new turfs.
I waited for a while, finally realizing
I was a ship without a captain, left to wander evermore.
I caught a new captain in a bystander who counted his lucky stars
I admired him for being there for me when I never was.
I tried to hold on to an unconsolidated bond of friendship
With a raging doubt piercing through my heart
'Will I ever be enough?'
Many came telling me my worth.
Many left ravaging my already battered heart
Many drank my colourless lifeless blood
Many left a wretched bluish mark
I shrivelled from the inside out
Bloating in the nausea of my being
Every day trying to put me together
Every day losing instead of winning.
One day finally I reached out
Knowing my salvation lies
I put everything behind me and cried out
Only to be put on the side.
That day I realized my worth
When she was hurt by my rejection
When she refused to give me a chance
When I had never received any ever.
My insecurities still lingered
But they were a part of me now
And I did not know how to do without.
I picked up the pieces that meant something to me
Even though she was no more there to see
Yet I knew that she was never enough
Never my horizon, never my turf
I had wings to reach farther
And my flight has thus
Now begun without her.
(c) Anavah 2018
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 7:18 AM UTC
I will edit my soul
with the colourless liquid
that escaped from the two overflooded doors
and stained page 255 on
the medical ethics section.
'Drop on the floor, drops.
Tear drops
never to return.'
A lullaby moaned
before hope runs out of
the small, plastic bottle.
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 2:54 PM UTC
The foretold episode is ripe
And the childless dawn is now flowering,
The awesome parrots of Africa
Have began swimming in the heavens
And singing the verses of the paraded bees,
For the warrior of South Africa
Has ultimately impregnated the Godsbaa
Without violating her divine virginity,
The black star arouse from Ghana,
Journeyed gorgeously through Zimbabwe
And has decisively descended on South Africa,
Bu this is just the divine seed
Yet to grow into a full black African moon,
For the black star of the black man
Is the religious light yet to radiate on
The colourless naivete of mankind,
Ah, the premise behind this
Exhibition makes a perfect sense,
We did begin it all,
Pilgrimage through it all
And shall end it all,
For the wreckage of
Humanity flies with time
And the megapower status
Of the African is a fact of life,
Today, a new voice has been
Added to the joy of the black women,
Causing the dry bamboo flutes to buzz
With the pantaloons of the ancestors,
Adorn our emerald embryonic pride with
The ambrosial smiles charms of the sunrise,
For he pelts of the peerless mid-night
Has been remodeled with our dark gore.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:09 AM UTC
Tum ** toh hum hai
Tumharay bina zindagi berang hai
Jabhi tumharay baray may likhta hoon kisi koray kagaz par
Toh woh kagaz bhi rangeen ban jaati hai
(Urdu and Hindi)
English Translation
I exist because of you
Without you my life is colourless
Whenever i write about you on a piece of blank paper
That paper becomes colourful
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 6:32 AM UTC
To think that this meaningless thing was ever a rose,
Scentless, colourless, this!
Will it ever be thus (who knows ?)
Thus with our bliss,
If we wait till the close?
Tho' we care not to wait for the end, there comes the end
Sooner, later, at last,
Which nothing can mar, nothing mend:
An end locked fast,
Bent we cannot re-bend.
2.3k
Preach your colourful knowledge of me,
From a jaw that could hold nothing more than a faint whisper of insincerity
And a flailing bird tangled on your tongue.
But when the rainbow bursts;
Don't attempt to rain materialism down on me
Stuff your grocery store heart shaped chocolates up your nose.
And stop dreaming up all the sadness I stand for.
I am not your fixer-upper-er.
I am whole, trust me,
The serpent rejoins once cut
And heals.
I am a serpent, rainbow and colourless.
Materialistic seduction...
Give me a minute while I puke fluro ***** on your shoe,
You are the needy one and I remain whole...
Scuffed and cracked
I am healing, alone.
But I am whole.
Mixing strings of blues, greens and pinks
Into one strand,
There are scars.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 8:09 AM UTC
Moonbeams
Where is my beloved?
Whose eyes quenched my thirst.
Does she look upon you,
In the depths of this night
And yearn our next embrace.
Moonbeams
Whisper of my enduring love,
Of the emptiness that grips life
The colourless rainbows and tasteless feasts
Say that I think of her tonight.
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 10:28 PM UTC
Some say love is red, others say it is blue
which ever one you choose, make sure you stick to her like glue.
Some say love is found, others say it finds you
but for every time you fall, you have to travel the road anew.
But love is colourless, love has no tribal marks.
Love knows not the English man or the African man.
Love sees no colour or ancestral roots.
Love only has a language and only hearts speak it.
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 6:43 PM UTC