While eating an apple
I saw a converstation,
between heaven and dawn,
and I realized
that life is color made.
By default
life is properly blue.
Lurches between shades
among intention, fanfare
and presumably, state of mind.
Life is lonely yellow
precisely when you're on that state.
It's a very sensitive color, in which
any alteration,
has an effect on it.
About a red life, I cannot argue,
against lords and authors,
that it's the ideal for love.
Most of the time I lived in pink
but I would like that bloody crimson
that ran through your cheeks,
when I was reaching the end.
Sometimes red and yellow
can't define themselves
and you stay in that respectable orange
which seems to be,
everyone's last option.
It's green like my eyes
when everything is relaxed
to the exact point of equilibrium.
And you conceive to reason at last.
Usually,
this is the color of all answers.
It's gray like an afternoon
not because of misfurtune, or luck,
but because you just realized
that you're in a junction,
and you don't know where to proceed.
It's black, oh yes it's black!
When you get lost in mediocrity
and all the colors get mixed.
And you can't distinguish a scarlet turquoise
from a brownish jungle jet.
Sometimes life is colorless, of sorrow,
when someone has left
by any vile pretext.
And, to nothing, to absolutely nothing
you seem to find the color.
It's maximum is, when it's transparent..
Because you know everything,
how it goes, how it is done,
it's translucent phosphorescent.
But the intrigue and the flavor are gone
and you just don't know of what color it became.
But there's no doubt that
it's bright and intense
when all the sensations boil
everything gets mixed,
and you drown in the oil
only to be painted again.
In that crunch of an apple,
I realized that life is a color,
it's a tone,
it's a chromatic,
it's paleness and shadows,
that play among them, inside the spectrum.
La vida es.. la vida.
Diego Betancourt @ 2006