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Many are the tinctures in human lives.

Yellows of despair and fears,

Vibrant reds of war and knifes,

Soft blues of nostalgia and tears.

Could one be described in splashes

Of the remains of colours and ashes?

Or was its author's craziness

To speak louder,

To yell, to scream,

To make itself visible on the screen?

Red are the souls in love,

Blue, weeping eyes from above,

Yellow, the smiles of liars,

Orange, the death of fires,

White an aura in equilibrium,

Black, the grim of delirium.

Could a single pallet of shades

Tell fables of decades

Even though emotions are but a box of charades?

Perfect squares aligned with a ruler:

The ironic comparison to the emotional dueler.