The palate with varied hues...
Each tells a story of it's own..
Some merry , some with ruse...
Of riches, of gold, of mighty men once well known..
Of dreams, and yet to accomplish breakthroughs...
Some stained with blood, of hatred that thousands bemoan..
It is not upon us to choose...
Who gets the blues and who gets the throne..
But if for once, you could walk in the painter's shoes...
You shall see , the power to control the hues being no less than a race against a cyclone..
It isn't about who to rescue and who to accuse...
Or about how to avenge and when to atone..
It's about cherishing every scar, every bruise...
Being badges of honour on your way to the next milestone..
And when you on your favorite colour ever muse...
Promise yourself to never any shade disown..
For you cherish having lived in all hues...
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