A Myopic

A myopic,

She was

The whole world was a blur.

Before she put on those colorful lenses,

Reflecting in her eyes,

A new one everyday.

Sometimes it is pearl white,

Like white chocolate,

Sweet,

Cold.

From time to time it is pistachio green,

Like spring,

Young,

Growing.

On other days it is sapphire blue,

Like sea,

Vast,

Fearless.

At times it is hot pink,

Like cherry,

Feminine,

Raw / fragile.

On and off it is crimson red,

Like wine,

Lustful,

Addictive.

Occasionally its hazel brown,

Like coffee,

Reminiscent,

Exhilarating.

Once in a while it is fierce orange,

Like sun,

Vibrant,

Undef eatable.

But at night,

When the darkness engulfs the world.

When the bats rise from sleep,

And the fireflies lights up the world.

She sits in front of the mirror,

And undresses,

To reveal,

Her true-self.

The jet black eyes,,

With a splash of kohl

With the red buried in the ebony black heart,

Like the black hole.

Raw,

She engulfs,

The stained white,

The green fall,

The filthy blue,

The tasteless red,

The damaged pink,

The faded orange,

The in-odorous brown.

And surrenders herself,

To her old friend,

Who was the only remedy?

And was just like her.

The darkness,

And waits,

Till the bats go to the sleep.

So that she can wear a new color again,

For the world,

A myopic,

She was,

Not just at eyes,

But at life too.