The Colour Monster

When the roar and belch of the world leaves us weary,
When the challenges of the day go unchallenged,
When the post stays on the table, tapping invisibly in waiting,
We switch on our magic boxes
And let out the hungry colours.

Pure comfort in waves of light
Penetrating through the doorways of the eyes.
Through the slits leading to our light-deciphering unit.
The comfort untangles the nerves of the retina
Exposing them to slumber's guns.

The city in green lights.
The city in infrared.
The city in the darkness of redress.
As if it was empty.
As if it was already dead.
As If it had always been like this.

As if I never walked its bustling streets,
Or heard the sound of hammers,
Shaping a marvel out of tin.
As if all the mothers,
clutching their children
And negotiating their black cloaks
With the dexterity of sailors.
Had walked solely
Through the caverns of my deluded mind.

As if I willed into creation, the heart of the world.

'How many?' They ask.
'As few as possible' They answer.
The box beams out assurances. Instant comfort.
The Prozac against the unthinkable.

But what if in an improbable moment of madness,
The truth was to leap onto the screen ?

Men, women and children in a shelter
- turn the volume down -
A buzzing sound, a mad kamikaze bee.
- fade the colours, blur them if you can -
The first hit steamed the features off the children's faces.
- turn the channel, turn it to anywhere else ! -
The second, transformed the rest into carbon silhouettes.
- Switch off ! Switch off ! Switch off ! -
Today, art lovers everywhere can view them on the walls.

Somewhere behind my dulled retina, a thought flashes.
Not unlike the thought that must have sculled once through
Elvis' drug-pickled brain,
Before he fired that infamous bullet
Right into the belly of the colour monster,
Shattering its illusions and breaking the spell.

Hassan Abdulrazzak

If you've any comments on his work, Hassan Abdulrazzak would be pleased to hear from you.