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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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Off the Cuff / My Other Journal #812572 added April 4, 2014 at 1:53pm
Restrictions: None
Five Colors of My Life
Purple brings to mind the smell of lavender, the beauty of sunsets, the pain of bruises, a hint of mysticism, the last chakra, and what is holy, beautiful, and royal.
Purple is a favorite color for my aunt and me. My aunt is not here anymore. I was very close to her, much closer than I was to my mother. I am wearing purple now, as I have made it a regular habit to wear purple something about three times a week or even more often, to remind me of my aunt and of what is of the highest and the noblest inside me.
Purple is also a souvenir of the bruises that have faded away but should not be forgotten for the times I bruised easily when I wore my heart on my sleeve. Still purple is what I have forgiven and will continue to forgive.
Maroon is the color of cottages and barns, of the frontiers I dared to explore. Maroon is the impulsive, passionate red I used to love, which I have outgrown now. Maroon is the color of blood when aired and aged. Maroon also reminds me of the missing: missing of loved ones who left and those I have left, missing of chances and opportunities, missing of the quiet and the noise, missing what used to be important but is not anymore. Maroon is the color of my tea in the morning, which warms and wakes me up.
Maroon was the color of the table spread on which I wrote my first poems.
Blue is for water, for the oceans, for life, reflecting the skies suspended, upended, drifting, flowing, foaming, bubbling. Blue is the kindness and empathy I feel. Blue is the color hiding inside the shades of my life that make me feel low. It traces the edges of my being and is surely the cause of my love for poetry. Blue is Beethoven; blue is the music I love that penetrates into my soul. Blue is me and what flows from my pen when I ponder on dark and dreary days.
Brown is the dominant color of eyes and hair and some skins. It means all humanity and my love for it. Brown is the earth that I let flow through my fingers when I am planting. Brown is the color of henna decorating hands and feet at weddings. Brown is the coffee and the cinnamon, the furniture inside my house and bookshelves that hold my books. Brown is the color of all my joys, but brown is also mud and the hardening of our insides, for it is what miners bring up from the mines alongside their muddied selves and clogged lungs.
Brown is the color on the wings of the bald eagle. Brown is country. Brown is freedom. Brown is the galactic swirl in the universe. Brown is the milk of life.
Black is what is hidden and what will never be revealed inside me, but it is a gift not a curse. Black is what I like to wear for its slimming effect and when I travel, as black hides the best what has become a stain.
Black is the color of the night and the endless space. Black is my fears and what I see when I close my eyes, as all fears are directed at what lurks in the dark. And who says I can't love the dark as well as the light?
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Prompt: What five (5) colors best represent your personality?
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