Color Of Death

Could it be black? The darkness, the blank screen in a big theatre, the dark empty room – it makes me smell death..where you find yourself lost..when you desperately look for someone. And you never get her. Suddenly you find yourself in a big big room, where you are alone. And all the lights go off. You can’t cry. Nobody expects you to cry. She won’t listen. And you feel Death. Can it be that steely blue? The harshness which cuts you through. The sharpness that hits you right there. The razor edge which is always inviting me. The ever alluring Blue! Or is it white? The white in the dumb eyes..the pale faces..the white flowers..the overwhelming white that surrounds you. Or can it be red? Look at this – a close frame, aperture opened to maximum. It’s a semi-dark room. A hand (no it’s a girl) hanging vertically from top right corner of the frame and stretches till the centre of the frame. The sharpness of the fingers (and the ring) overlooks the pool of blood, and a piece of paper flying away. There is some hint of metal lying in the ground. Damn it! Death must be red.

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