Hands smeared with colour,
I stood long at your doorstep
To colour your countenance
With a bit of myself.
At last you appeared in the doorway,
Wearing a worried look;
Many unknown hands reached you
Before I could raise mine.
A purple face you raised
To look at me through untouched eyes,
I found your cheek and neck
And brushed your tender bosom.
A warmth spread through my being
And flowed through outstretched hands;
My colour on your face and body
Said more than I ever had.
Holi is a fun Indian festival which people celebrate by applying all sorts of colours - dry, wet - on others.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem