Colour is dead

Colour is dead,
the blind man said.
When it had gone,
it still shone
within my soul.
But now
there is a hole,
blacker than coal.

I try to remember
the dark blue sky,
when by and by
silver stars appear.
And then this fear
takes hold,
until I’m told
the sky is still here.

I try to recall
the yellow sun,
the green trees
and the turquoise seas.
I try to revive
colourful flowers
and all the hours
I was living my life.

And I search for a spark,

for the light has gone dark.
But before I get sad,
that the colours are dead,
the wind blows to bring
perfumes ahead,
and a bird starts to sing.