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s Dec 2017
when you ask me if I'm bored
of listening to your terrible stories,
it makes me think about
what boredom means to me
and why it’s beauty that I find
in apparent mundanity.

you colour my life in every tone of grey -
in a nourishing and poetic, underrated way.
Grey - the soul of every colour in the world;
Invisible and aligned - right between extremes -
like all well designed things are known to be.

Or maybe because grey
feels like routine,
and you’re the everyday
that's to come and that has been.

you're where I set my bar for normal;
you're my Sunday night pyjama informal.

You’re my common sense, and my reality check,
my perspective lens, my goodnight peck.
and even your grim phone voice
and plotless stories on sleepless nights
are part of the palette  I've come to adore,
painting magic in monochrome.
ABOVE THE FUCHSIA COLORED CITY
IS A FRENCH ROSE COLORED SKY,
COLORED AS ANOTHER NAME
OTHER THAN THE CLOUDS OF WHITE
SALT AND BONES.

THE CITY'S AIR SMELL OF GREY
ELEPHANT'S BREATH AND POETRY.
I BLAME THE LEMONADE  COLORED
RAIN THAT DIDN'T FALL TODAY
FOR THIS CONUNDRUM.

MAYBE THE RAIN IS PROBABLY
SOMEWHERE SITTING STILL
IN THE HOT SEAT OR MAYBE IN
HEAVEN'S COLORLESS TIGHTLY
CLOSED LAP.
SITTING
               THERE
                          THINKING
                             ­                WHAT
                                                       COLORS                      
                                    ­                               GO
                                                                ­         BEST
                                                            ­                     WITH
                                                                ­                         WILD
                                                                ­                    EMOTIONS?
Let it be grey.
It has never rained like this before,
I like it this way.

I don't care if it is night or day.
For all the times I have felt sore,
Let it be grey.

They will not come today.
No one will knock the door,
I like it this way.

There is nothing for me to say.
I want to listen to the clouds roar,
Let it be grey.

The wind whistles my stress away.
And I have nothing to cry for,
I like it this way.

My mind wanders away.
My eyes marvel at the downpour,
Let it be grey.
I like it this way.









Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018. All Rights Reserved.
I leave this poem to your perception. Feel free to interpret it the way you want to. Happy reading!
ryn Aug 2014
Grey is my pain(t)
Smeared on this tain(t)

Seeping in(k)
Entanglement be my kin(k)
Now I thin(k)
Soon I will sin(k)

My mind ramble(d) on and on
Struggle(d) till I'm almost gone

Overused angular frow(n)
Paint over the brow(n)
That had (s)oiled this painting
(Sp)Oiled by sporadic inking

The (ch)ink in my skin
Sung of battles that reside (with)in
My armour though(t) sturdy
In(side) I only bury

Must...

Plan(t) my feet
Swift is my flee(t)
Envision my escape(s)
Beyond the cordoning tape(s)

Shed the armour and reveal the s(h)eep
My vulnerability hid(den) deep
Let loose... The courage I hone(d)
Let them be heard... Voices that groan(ed)

I await... Patient(ly)
Time I bide... Defiant(ly)

Fade(d), bleeding away
Shade(d)... With gloom that stay

Grey is my pain(t)
Only colour, tinting my tain(t)
Healing leaves are now ***** branches
on the edge of this wilderness.
Here, many tall Douglas Fir stand sentinel
over 100 foot tall amazing grace — the fleeting leaves
expose the beauty of the moss clad scaffolds
adorned with a lime-grey lichen lace
Nature is my refuge — solid ground to stand
in this harmony and peacefulness.


Jesse Stillwater — December 2018
Left as a comment yesterday, mused by "Healing Leaves" by Reena Sharma:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2843497/healing-leaves/
TD Mar 2016
I saw a sunset linger, stay
mid shadowed folds of cloudy grey
while peeking through with teasing grin
its colors spread despite the din.
And stormy clouds could not refrain
the crimson shroud nor violet stain.
an attempt at an iambic tetrameter
Lily May 21
Across the room,
I mind my own.

You smile.

At once,
I want to write
my heart
out on paper.

I hear the words
before they're spoken,
listening closely
to your glances.

The eyes they speak
a language
all their own;

blue & inviting
as an open sea,
grey as impenetrable stone.
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