Colour schemes

My sister always told me

She disliked photographs

In black and white,

colour looks better,she said.

I arrive home at midnight,

From the flight,I watched the city

Scattered like purple pixie dust,

Mocking the stars,mirroring them.

Woke father up,he looked haggard

In his royal blue kurta,

creased with fatigue,worry lines.

He enveloped me,sealed a kiss on my forehead.

I’ve been trying to find home

In the off white drapes

And aquamarine couches in the old age home,

Pastel has always seemed inviting to me.

I search for home,cling to the idea of it

In the soft silver hair of Nanna,

In the moist banana loaf she cuts up carefully

For us, the mellow lamp lit beside her.

I speak in fragments,it’s all there’s left

Of home,some term this post modern,

I call it mere poetry,when we watch yellow 

leaves fall for the summer,nature’s confetti.

 We laugh,as we savour our bubblegum jelly

Ice lollies,losing colour to our tongues,

turning blue.Colour looks better,she said,

I look for hope in colour schemes.