• Vol. 04
  • Chapter 01
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When I taste a cooked flesh, why do my fingers taste better,

and why things taste better before they taste better.

as from my platter to my platter is a human of cruel survival, devastatingly honest

who has got a 'new eye' for his simple choices and grave desires - Colors.

He has been honest in being cunning, in holding two lives differently,

in scaling two throats, in touching two bellies differently.

And he doesn't deny that the more he holds, the more he grabs

and in human language, taps and shakes hand, the more he denies the truth - Contrast.

All things including himself cooked or raw, in guises of choices, find their roads to his appetite.

He is a luxurious animal even without his luxury and luxury needs colors in spite of being colorful.

He has been spending his life span being yellow alongwith
Sunflowers, blue with skies,

reddish reds with killings, grey with death and black with darkness.

He will keep changing his seasons or rather it's the seasons changing according to him.



He has stopped feeling long ago. Now only the skin feels to his denial.

The human in me is the most honest when it choses a single color;

when it closes its eyes and keeps them closed

accepting he isn't worthy of watching change.