My city is fading, slowly into the pulls of grey. A colour, ironically my favourite but an indication of impending gloom. Gloom. Not impending.
Shakti once told me that when you have jaundice, everything appears yellow. My city is a grey mess. My body, brain and heart, sunk in. This isn’t home. Grey is heavier than it seems, than it was ever before.
Imagine a filter in real life fixed upon your eyes and adjusted to your consciousness. A film. Real life, real time, jumbo cataract. Your sun isn’t yellow. Your blue skies and green trees and red earth , even the colour of your walls are diffused. They’re tones of reality. This is reality.
My city is grey. Its children are growing up in a grey world. Breathing in grey air. And they don’t know that this once was weightless. The weight is now natural. Not to me. Never to me.
The sunlight in my room is an unnatural yellow. Or is it white? Like a bad job of watercolor. Opaque and disturbing.
Fading? Faded. My city has faded into the pulls of grey. And nothing can be done about it.
soapsandsongs 