Dazzling Shades of Life

By Harleen Kaur

Under the canvas of an infinite sky,

My hands glide, whispers of hues.

Capturing life's shades in a square,

Limiting the limitless, it feels unfair.

A soft tap pulls me from my art,

A girl stands, her gaze an astral spark.

"Are you a moron?" she starts,

Eyes swirling, galaxies in part.

"It's rude to bully," I reply,

She laughs, sitting by my side.

"Your painting is a bland monstrosity,"

She points, I challenge her audacity,

"Can you do better?" I raise a brow,

"I direct, not paint," she avows.

"Sky-searching we must go," Her cherry red eyes, a vibrant show,

"Past is lost, future away, let’s leave now, what do you say?"

We drive through lanes, fields lush and green,

"Names are just letters lost in wind,"

She says, her hair a midnight sheen.

"How about Mirage?" I offer with a grin.

Mirage she becomes, or Mira in short,

"Purity can't be absolute, Vibrance can't be relative."

"Is it the relative serenity you want or the divinity of absolute?"

Her words, a philosophical pursuit,

"How can you choose, when you haven't seen it all?

How can you decide dear Iris, when you haven't felt it all?"

Ominous clouds, scent of rain,

"Why not paint this sky?" she inquires again.

I shudder and claim my fear of grey lanes.

"Dark is the night, where silver stars glow,

Dark are the windows carrying raindrops and tears along.

Dark are the long lanes where we love to wander alone."

"Dark are the hearts that reflect our soul.

Dark are our minds when it's us, we try to fool."

I gasp. Lightning blinds the sky, the car windows glow in rain.

"Life is most beautiful when we embrace all its hues."

Her voice, a hypnotic muse,

We paint, we dream, we laugh, we muse.

As rain subsides, colors turn murkier,

The painting is complete, ethereal and peculiar.

"Iris," she whispers, "live every shade,

We will meet again; in the life you’ve made."

Her name is revealed, as she fades away,

"Life," she whispers, leaving me to sway,

In the obsidian sky, stars a pearly sight,

I stand, I wonder, in the still of night.

Is my life a mirage? Or is my mirage life?

Reflections of shades, in colors rife,

I sleep and dream, of hues in flight,

With Mirage, my Life, painting the night.

By Harleen Kaur