Black

RICHA AGARWAL '07

i always argued black counted as a colorbecause the absence of lightis somethingand the moon does not illuminate the dreary night skythe moon glistens because the sky listensand quiets down so you can appreciate its radiancethat’s what black isthat’s what nothing doesthat’s what goes unnoticedthe vigilant star gazers know it’s not the stars they’re looking atat least i’m noti drove without my brights on to pay tribute to the darkand the backdrop was the most beautiful i’ve ever seenand the moon hung between a few clouds in the distanceit must’ve been paying tribute tooand black is now it doesn’t shed light on anythingit’s nowit doesn’t pave a way for youwhen you can’t see in the distancemaybe you actually know where you areblack is the blanket you crawl into when you need a place to hideblack is rods and motion and feeling and never conesblack is white’s passionate love affair you long to hold onto in the minutes the two fade into each otherinto the colors of sunrisesof sunsetsand then away into a brilliant darknessnever lack of colorbecause my black has intensitythat deepens through the nightmy black isn’t wicked like a witchor swollen like a black eyemy black wasn’t chained in slaverymy black isn’t what takes over when you dieblack is pure and beautiful and peaceful like the night skyblack is the ear to children’s prayers they whisper softly as fatigue shuts their once heavy eyesblack isn’t morbid or depressingau contraire, its connoations must be so oppressingblack is free like the most genuine loveunselfish and unnoticedthat’s what nothing doeslike invisible thought buried deep into curled dimensionsand time is so relative in the restless nightwhen all that exists is nowplease never turn on the light