This sudden burst of hues, but why?
Oil on canvas and a vibrant blue,
just when all the fest is done, the jest;
your portrait, a call, a golden bait.
With triple hook and single sink,
but I haven't got the lips, not any more.
Torn to shreds by your previous hits,
Slow n sure I've turned colour blind.
Open wounds now mere overcasts,
ye busy days well let 'em last.
Never would I feel sunshine there,
ever after that scream, then break of trust.
Your gentle shades so meaningless,
I'm happy now with black n white.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem