Fading Colours

If one day I paint my childhood

in a blank canvas

I will paint it in yellow.

The kind of yellow

that drops onto a paddy field

at the last hour of the day.

I will paint a bunch of kids

cheering and playing

in that barren field of January

when air smells like harvest

and the distant villages echo

of a festive rhythm of Madal.

My pallete has greys in it too.

I someday might paint

my father's old almirah

that had yellow books in it.

I used to sit by it

and lost myself.

Somewhere,

in the dying sun

and yellow old pages.

You see,those days were

as bright and faded

as an evening sun.

That kind of yellow,

which can fill pages and still not be enoough.