What are the colours of time?
The winter blanket on the rooftops and roads. Dazzling, brittle, raw. The crunch of your footprints in the driven snow.
The spring morning with cherry blossoms and the rose bush breaking through the holly hedge and the four-leaf clovers in your lawn before you mow it.
The summer sun, happy and vivid, the horizon over a sheen of turquoise and sand on your toes and salt in the air.
The final whisper of autumn leaves in a dead pile and children running through and a mug of hot chocolate in the shorter evenings.
And that short cycle closes and another starts.
What are the colours of life?
From the chubby-faced cherub to the hollowed cheeks and the blue innocence to grey apathy in the eyes. Your routine from harmony to monotony. From the chase for the treasure under the rainbow to the snore in front of the tv.
The plans and hopes and dreams for the holiday of your life, travel the world one day, why not? Now or never, and forgotten.
The true colours of the friend turned foe, and the soul tossed between the light and dark in your being.
The clods of earth, black and bare, for you to rest. Your last journey from the light in this world to the bleak in the next.
What is the colour of love?
That brilliant yet illusory thing comes with the honey in the hair and the warmth in the eyes and goes, sometimes, through thick and thin of life. With bright peals of laughter and strolls on a moon-lit path and gazes at silver stars. From the passion at night to the power struggle where to go on holiday and what pet to have. The green-eyed monster of jealousy may come. Wounded and tearful, you can’t gaslight them but text them good bye.
What are the colours of our world?
The colours of oil thicker than blood, of napalm, of winners and losers. And the forgotten white dove with the olive branch.
The mastermind in ars politica, the pledge and promises in the election campaign from blue to red to green. The colours of the truth, the lie, the silence.
The true colours of the better half of the world.
From ancient patricians to modern oligarchs the colour of money rules, ‘Let’s see it!’ behind the scenes. Insider trading between you and me. And the silver spoon and red carpet and black credit card.
The colour of poverty from the plebeians to the Atlantic Slave Trade to the test of the brown paper bag to modern slavery.
What are the colours of eternity?
The Tree of Life. The baobab or the ghaf tree or the sycamore that feed and water and shelter living things for years and centuries, long before and after you.
The Books. Avesta, Bible, Quran, Tanakh, Vedas. The keepers of God’s word and will and testament. The singularity of humankind that human try to divide and claim possession over.
For what is Sun to the earth, that is God to the soul.
From the ancient shrine and altar to the house of worship built of wood or stone, built not to weather but to last. A testimony for peace and harmony, whatever the symbol is: a crescent, a cross, a star. It is a haven to the soul.
From the Seven Wonders of the World to Familia Sagrada. From Gilgamesh who fights the bull of heaven in search of immortality to Falstaff who fakes his death. From Phoenix who endures on warmth and morning dew to The Raven, black and stately, and nothing more.
The Sun. The eye of heaven when crosses paths with the Moon and dies in a ring of fire and comes to life again.
The Milky Way or Backbone of Night that runs across the heavens, the cosmic pinwheel that spins suns and stars. The space and time that boggles the mind.
Afterthought. What about your immortality?
AI can create a digital avatar. Reshape your face, past and future, why not? You choose the platform and colours and the rest is history.
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