Draped in
yellow,
covered in
red.
Cornered by
black,
hiding in
blue.
I am torn.
Stuck
between the cynical past,
hopeful for
the future,
unsure of
the path.
Mixed
signals and colors,
flashing all
the time,
in noisy
hues,
unsyncopated
rhythms.
Neon, horns,
flags and signs,
jostling,
buzzing and marching in different
cadence, in
streets and in
minds.
Huddled
masses, kowtowed,
bent but
unbroken, with imperative
shouts pleading
at the sandals of lady justice.
She is not
blind. Justice is blindfolded.
In this
spectrum of the present,
I stand; baffled
by the colors of
emotion, of
pride, of duty and cause,
wanting
equality, acknowledging weakness.
Robert Pinsky’s
gasoline rainbow in a gutter,
a picture of
the moment in full color history,
vivid and on
display on TV’s flickering against
the rage
reflected faces.
There is
fear,
in blood.
Of people, for
people,
against
people.
Branded in
color
for nothing.
For
everything.
Painting by: The Metropolitan Museum of Art - Artist: Soomin Park, Title: Yellow Sunday
No comments:
Post a Comment