Behind Gray Walls

By Shreyas Raman

Mother, my mind is alight, will you tell the tragedy of mankind?

Oh, my child, you’ve grown so inquisitive… it pains me to spare you this tale.

But the curse of human defect and destruction will leave you...broken, breathless and pale 

White man, behind grey walls, maintain your inanimate apathy,

Mother has watched the towers of slate that protect your fragile purity.

     The flickering light of life within, sparked from a rickety boney wick, 

Within a chalky candle burning the same white composing him.

A fleeting flame could fade or burst, if serpent shades bring sin.

The pristine soul, to be protected - must be protected - from venomous colors of grim.

Behind four grey walls, you can enjoy the bleached sentence of life,

Mother knows best to preserve your fate, from the disease of emotion that’s rife!

       You never taught me about emotions, Mother…how dangerous can they be?

Cut that venomous tongue my child -- your humanity will budge you outside!

That toxic virus does torture it's slaves...spreading soul-to-soul when mortals die 

White lad, behind grey walls, your pure wax must not be tarnished,

Mother has protected your naïve being, from the feebleness of this attachment.

There is no anger to boil him Red, no depression to drown him Blue,

Shrouded from murder, extinction and failure, oblivious to duress and dues. 

There is no greed to entice him Yellow, no emerald Green of envy,

Aloof of wealth, of power and greed, blind to the competitive frenzy.  

Behind four grey walls you must remain, a white soul -- far from tainted men,

The enticing visceral broth of color are myths of archaic madmen.

             sigh yes, Mother...you have always been wise…but these walls can withstand emotions

Alas, my child, you heard the truth… I would blow the candle if you hadn’t so soon

There are no monsters inside these walls, inside you are immune.

White boy, behind grey walls, endure your candlelight burning inside,

Mother has known to avert blunders of old; the only path to innocence of mind.

There is no love blossom him Pink, no joy to brighten him Gold,

Unknowing of family, of friendship and faith, erased from cherished memories of old.  

There is no passion to burn him Orange, no Purple crown of pride,

No urge of hope, of grit and hardwork, devoid of conviction inside.  

Behind four grey walls this silver corpse thrives, there is no need for fear. 

White child, behind grey walls, you are safer inside, my dear. 

By Shreyas Raman