Colors are exotic, beautiful when they are seen and ‘felt’
Shadows- shades, the blue skies and the sun when she set
Wandering bees, yellow and black buzzing about
The black wasp making holes by the wood post
Camels stand like mad men who either forgot themselves or their ways
On the sands, come views of mixed soft silt and reddish clay
The dungs of stray animals, the boar which found solace in waters lay
All constituting strange hues, so also are the beautiful or hateful words we say
The light, solemn sweet aura of the oceans blue
As the white waves rise and fall into the bluish hue
See the wheat fields, the sun flowers happy gold
When cut and in dark evenings of the market be sold
Trains horn and cockcroach thru hidden grey tunnels and hills
The farmers gather the browned seeds into the huge farm mill
And all these while the memories of colors pass on a sweet feel
Never to be forgotten, but for moments which stand not to be seen
