Palette Part II

I’ve been tossing this idea (Palette) around in my books for a while now, shifting it to new pages in different sections working out a way I could go about with it. It all started when I came across one colour in its deepest hues embodied in the most banal things; furniture, jewelry, fabric. What my hands couldn’t get, my eyes took in. So I used my hands to do this instead; in this form and in these words. This extra ration came out through poetry. That was almost a year back and that colour was blue.

The speaker in the poem is a man. Not me. Just postscript.


Rich blue hues and an open window

Fixed in gold around her fingers. Midday in summer

She was swathed in blue, full nine yards. Sheathed.

She dropped her head and crinkled her nose,

Looked at me sideways and smiled

For she was not impervious to the light.

The nimbo pani stained the oak

Her lips stained the glass

She drank up and my eyes drank her in, smile and all.

“Chalo?” she asked

“Haan, chabiya kaha hai?”

– Tanishka Dlyma.

For the Palette Part I –



Look to the Lord and praise Him

For His love and embrace, which strengthen me everyday

For His mercy that lightens my heart as it lights me up in wonder

For the warmth of His hands that hold mine on this travel.

What can I do without You? Where, O Lord, else can I go?

***** ❤ *****

PALETTE: Preface

This is my palette. A collection of colours in poetry form.

In the first verse of the introductory poem, a conversation takes place between Acceptance and Pragmatism at a painter’s wall (the canvas) while he is away, busy finding the right shade to fill in the outlines of his still wet drawings. We hear from him directly, in the third verse after being spoken about again in the second verse by someone who spotted him as he comes to terms with acceptance and pragmatism.

I really really hope you like these little poems and are as excited to read them as I am to write them. There’ll be a new poem under ‘Palette’ once every week, indefinitely, so stay tuned!

If you know me then you’ll know that I like not only writing poems but also talking about them. (I once had my points reduced in a competition for exceeding the time limit. I wouldn’t shut up.) So, if you would have me explain any of my poems by asking me to do so in the comment section, I would do it, gladly. Haha. And I would also like to hear from you. I welcome your portrayals of the texts.

Lots of virtual hugs,




Do you see this? The drawings on the wall

It’s incomplete

The fresh ones lack colour

The wall is still almost completely bare.

“What happened to the painter? There’ so much left to do.”

The paint’s still wet and he finds none right a shade

“He’s wasting water and paint. Stirring up time at the drain.”

I know.


Walking around with drying paint

Meeting at the back of his hands

Dripping to his elbow.

He put them down, his hands, beside him

To see what’s ahead of him.


I’m staring at a blank wall

And I’ve never been more thankful

My paints are wet and my hands hold a brush

I need to begin.