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The Colour Of My Soul

By Yeshaswini Srihari


I have spoken of my beating heart 

Spoken of these lungs that breathe 

I have spoken of this mind that runs 

Deep into thoughts that flicker 

A train of thought that drives by quicker 


But I seem to be at a loss of words 

When I am to speak of this soul of mine. 

But here goes, 

An attempt 

A mere attempt 


I wish to speak of the colour of my soul 


My soul feels like aged books 

Brown and golden with a hint of a fade

Finger prints and stains across the sheet

Left from when my readers and I meet


My soul feels like all the shades of blue

Inked with memories from all my years

Carrying the lightness of some tears

Tinges of white among my own sky

From the times I've soared, from the times I've flied



My soul feels like aged wine

Rich in red and flowing through my veins

The colour on my cheeks when I blush

And the adrenaline of every blood rush


My soul feels full of life and wild

Like the forests lush greens, never mild

My soul feels like sunshine on a cloudy day

What can make a difference is even a single ray


I am realising,

That I cannot help but place her on a spectrum

For it is a reflection of all that I see and feel

The colour of my soul is something so real

So beautiful, it simply cannot be just one hue

And so I'll break it down for you


She is all the colours you can imagine and more

Some from your dreams, the rest outside your door

She's all I've wanted to become and all I've been

She is a prism, a creator of colour I have never seen

But in her true form, she is crystalline


Intangible, transparent, reflective

Everything at once and nothing at all

A mere contradiction, a clash of colours 

Yet to fully be discovered


By Yeshaswini Srihari




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