Let’s Roll In Some Other Colours

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ps; now that the hunters are home and the game cleaned and roasted, is it not time for the listening eyes to sneak from behind the fumes of the smoking molten rocks and count the dark paw marks on the white crust and crumbs and the teardrops of sympathizers laid out on the wide-open table?Now that the mist has receded and the hangover shaved off the badly battered heads of the perpetual village drunks, is it not time to leave out black in the still clear foreground and roll in some other colours?Now that the drum skin is broken the beating palms worn and bruised the hollow sounds irk the dancers and the

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spectators march off to join some chatroom gossips, the parched throats hanker for the dry bite of cold drinks, is it not time to synthesize and sync the choruses of divergent voices into a common long play anthem?Now that the blackened firemen have rolled up the empty hoses, the white ambulance sped off hurriedly down the long highway, zebra crossings and bumps ignored - sirens wailing as if intent to wake those who may silently slip off in a clean dash to the other world, is it not time to ponder and wonder why red of all the colours is only one running through the human vein?OU1217</article></body>

They May Not Be Black Or White

Now that the embers are settled and the leftover ash turned into a healing mortar, the charred coal ground into pristine detergent powder and disinfecting salt thrown on main entrance doorsteps; now that the hunters are home and the game cleaned and roasted, is it not time for the listening eyes to sneak from behind the fumes of the smoking molten rocks and count the dark paw marks on the white crust and crumbs and the teardrops of sympathizers laid out on the wide-open table?

Now that the mist has receded and the hangover shaved off the badly battered heads of the perpetual village drunks, is it not time to leave out black in the still clear foreground and roll in some other colours?

Now that the drum skin is broken the beating palms worn and bruised the hollow sounds irk the dancers and the spectators march off to join some chatroom gossips, the parched throats hanker for the dry bite of cold drinks, is it not time to synthesize and sync the choruses of divergent voices into a common long play anthem?

Now that the blackened firemen have rolled up the empty hoses, the white ambulance sped off hurriedly down the long highway, zebra crossings and bumps ignored - sirens wailing as if intent to wake those who may silently slip off in a clean dash to the other world, is it not time to ponder and wonder why red of all the colours is only one running through the human vein?

OU1217