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The Poverty of Colour

by Suchaita Tenneti

I lie loosely erect, bend as I ascend and grow thin; Arms spurt at will, speckled with faint dabs of green. Before me, my spiked sister – denser, barer, shapelier – we stare without looking, But my panoptic vision: tunicked cups, Bursts of colour—blue, yellow, red—embrace life in their tender folds. I meditate: gliding my fingers over their layered faces, feel their intricate finery, divinely crafted, An alien rush fills my pores – whiffs – unsubtle, proud, slyly unsettling; My myriad feet tug, then heave, at our earthy blanket, But humus-richness thwarts my intoxication. The cups are us – framed by colour, contoured to order, Rimmed with coarse hems of green, fixed, determined, Trailing into a wall of brown-green. Amnesiac of shared sameness. Colours liberate, free, express But confined by symmetry. In this garden of definition, We stand prisoners of our roots. Suchaita Tenneti is a student of Education at the Azim Premji University, Bangalore. She holds a Master's in English and is passionate about postmodern literature and storytelling and is an aspiring poet.