Quotes about colour, page 8
I Have But One Dream
This poem is dedicated to the late
Martin Luther King
I have but one dream
that one day all men and women
will see there is no difference
between us no matter what colour we are.
The air we breathe you and I,
is the same as everyone else.
We are all born of the same colour blood
and we all bleed when we are cut.
There is no difference in our body’s makeup
apart from the shade of our skin.
Yet if you are white in the winter,
you want to look a darker shade
when the summer comes.
If a brother or sister
is that colour all year around
why do we want to look like them
only when summer comes?
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poem by David Harris
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A Lovely Lavender Day
Purple, everything purple, purple
the colour I love, everything packaged
in purple – tile cleaner in a purple
container for lavender sweetness
Also power-cleaning cream for lavender-
fresh effects, the bottle appealing in a
soft purple hue, fabric conditioner in purple
too, accompanied by lavender promises
And my purple hot water bottle – I bought
Nici a purple fleece; a purple coverlet
on my bed, my favourite chocolate in a
purple wrapper
Purple is spiritual in the division of
seven chakra colours – red is earthed in
primitive desire, followed by orange, yellow,
green – the colour of love – and
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poem by Margaret Alice
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Colour Blind
I often shake with anger
As I read up on how
People are so blind
When it comes to each others race
Why must there be so much hate
Over the colour of ones skin
Why must people rant and rage
About the culture you belong too
Why is it a sin to be who you are?
Why must we all be persecuted?
For being just you
It boggles the mind
That still lives and breaths
In this day and age
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poem by Kaila George
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Candy Coloured Crosses
She wore white humming, soothingly
the little bundle in her arms, another case found in a cot
a pained whimper, a soft cry, whose beginnings lay crumbling
a face that grimaced, a smile regardless, wrapped in soft cloth
colour, now turning red
The baby's guardian only feet away, distant
perhaps praying to all gods, if only the little one could pull through
it was an accident and it wont happen again, not again
saying this over and over, clasping sweatly palms
with the nerve of neglect clutching a soft toy
the colour of candy
A doctor held a little finger, clammy
it was claimed the little one fell, if only
if only this child could speak, dispel the known fears
little eyes peeking through dispair, petrified, untrusting
lashes, feathery wisps and teary
The nurse prayed, doctors relentless, time against hope
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poem by Sylvi Sylva
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Manu's Varna
The colour and creed - that
Manu gave
Set rules - put one above the other-
to bring in some order -
it will help people to live together
Manu said.
Varnas there were four
The thinker, The fighter, The seller and The toiler.
The head, The body, The abdomen and the foot.
The co-ordination between the four - did it
give the real colour to life.
Even great people like the 'Mahatma' and 'bharathiar' -
were 'FOR' the Varnas
The discrimination they accepted- any
inhuman aspect in it they rejected.
Bharathiar would say 'Living within the varna-
marrying within it- would emancipate man sooner'
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poem by Samanyan Lakshminarayanan
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The Rainbow
After the tempest in the sky
How sweet yon rainbow to the eye!
Come, my Matilda, now while some
Few drops of rain are yet to come,
In this honeysuckle bower
Safely sheltered from the shower,
We may count the colours o'er.-
Seven there are, there are no more;
Each in each so finely blended,
Where they begin, or where are ended,
The finest eye can scarcely see.
A fixed thing it seems to be;
But, while we speak, see how it glides
Away, and now observe it hides
Half of its perfect arch-now we
Scarce any part of it can see.
What is colour? If I were
A natural philosopher,
I would tell you what does make
This meteor every colour take:
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poem by Charles Lamb
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Not all blacks
Diamonds are black,
hairs are black,
eyes are also black,
but heart too black?
Bear no grudge,
colours matter less,
does mother throw her child?
if kid is black,
Colour may not remain and vanish,
body may still last but perish,
idea may remain and also cherish,
hatred may remain and us finish,
Body may change from time to time,
The color may fade with passage of time,
nature may not change even with time,
do our feelings change with time?
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Eyes Of A Woman
Have you ever looked into the eyes of a woman
You can tell a lot about a woman, just from her eyes
No eyes could ever subdue the artistry of a woman's
As they say, the beauty of a woman lies in her eyes
And indeed they do, just look at those gorgeous eyes
Look at those olive green eyes, full of ecstasy and desire
I've never seen such angelic eyes in my life
Which is what led me to this paper and pen
As from the first time my eyes met them
I could not simply get them out of my head
I could not help but notice Oh, those dazzling green eyes
I am left speechless, as I remember that sight of grace
You indeed can tell a lot about a woman just from her eyes
Green is the colour of nature, and all the beauty it withholds
Symbolizing growth, harmony, freshness and fertility
Green has strong emotional correspondence with safety
It withholds great healing power, looking at them, I noticed
Being the most restful colour for the human eye, I realised
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poem by Gabriel Gauci Maistre
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0009 Persian vase, Persian thoughts
As you enter this quiet and peaceful sunlit room,
it seems at first all space; but then your eye
- as is intended – straightway drawn
to that fine Persian vase which sits
upon an old oak chest, its lid, polished
with the wax of love and years,
a crack across it somehow speaking
of trials borne and overcome;
the tale of life, of time, of history, of lessons learnt.
The chest – it’s cedar lined, as aromatic as memory
when the lid is opened – does not now hold,
as when it was first carpentered, a bridal trousseau;
a girl given with fine clothes to destiny -
now, precious family documents
that tell of rights and duties, high positions
and their responsibilities, once held;
past, present and future, public life and private,
aromatic in the memory.
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poem by Michael Shepherd
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JAZZ and RAINBOWS
What is Jazz - What is a Rainbow?
You can ask the questions - don't expect answers
Jazz is free and yet constrained
Rainbows come and go as they please
Jazz is wild and yet restrained
Rainbow can't exist without rain
Jazz is open and yet contained
Rainbows always have red at the top
Jazz is unscored and yet maintained
Rainbows can be single - double - triple
Just as Jango Rheinhardt said to Segovia
Senor it ees all in ze 'ed
The same is true of rainbows
Zey are all inside my 'ed!
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poem by John Knight
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