BLACK (a sonnet)

A hole is black - absorption of the light -

And closed eyes, and dark, absence of noise.

Only the softest murmurs of the night

Will sing a song of silences and joys.

 

I dress in black, mourning for what I’ve lost,

Not caring about possessions, moving on;

In black we disappear, and what is most

Attractive, is the fact we walk unknown.

 

And sometimes black is scary, when the dark

Is made of locked rooms and closed doors.

We crave for air, and try to disembark

Ourselves from the dim boat on open shores.

 

But black is inner beauty, all colours inside its shield:

The splendour of a flower too intense to be revealed.

 

(Sonnet by SiRiChandra)

 

Done