Few colors I was blind to,
And when you drew the curtains for me,
I wished to see the one that made vase fell for the flowers.
I didn’t know what was it called.
Such nouns were dead in my world
You gave them names.
Sometimes, these days, those names don’t come to my rescue
Betrayal isn’t just our art.
I thought, probably you would call them.
Sing to the air that shall carry them to me.
Some colors we all forget. Some colors die young.
For some, you wait.
Those crayons that once painted those starry nights.
Probably, we all lose them, eventually.
Should I call them by name?