what is the colour of loneliness?

It must be a hue between dying and death –an elongated pain that seems to stretch beyond the clock on our walls and concrete wells from our childhood, full of unattended wishes. Or perhaps a damp brown leaf caught by the wind, twisting out of Eden only to come across an unkempt, untouched, unmarked grave. A rainbow in black and white on a monotonous shore. A torn picture with a missing face flung from a rooftop some time in the 60s, something about Vietnam. An azure sky in Baghdad, grown crooked from all the corpses rushing to get through. The crimson red hands of a Sabra and Shatila child looking for her mother. Or the colour of muted music.