COLOURS

Once I met a man in a bus

with a face so sad and pale.

I gave a start for a talk between us.

He smiled and told me his tale.

 “I have a family; my wife, three sons

and a cute little daughter.

I had a happy life with all our funs.

Circumstances held me tightly than ever,

and accused me as a terrorist.

I was arrested and had been imprisoned

for a year and now free from that list.

Trials after trials they pardoned.

Now I could feel everything pleasant

but a ray of sorrow still haunts me”.

Said so, soon I enquired.

He said, “My daughter needed colours,

but now I don’t have the money required

to buy what I couldn’t a year back, for her pictures”.

Heard so, I bought colours when the bus did halt

for a daughter waiting her father back home

and a father who did no fault.

We got down at the halt near his home.

Then an acquaintance of him blocked us

and informed that his house was burnt

and family hospitalized, and if he does

dare to stay longer, he too would be burnt.

Soon we turned to the hospital

to see how worse had happened.

But thank God it hadn’t be too fatal.

All were alive and consciousness regained.

He rushed to where they were.

I stayed out not to harm.

Then I heard something unexpected there

that his little daughter lost her right arm.

I saw him broken out into tears

and approached me with an unbearable question,

“why do I need colours?”

 Tears rolled down my cheeks without permission.