Previously, I introduced the idea of red, to be more than a color. I take the position that things are exactly what we view them to be. Therefore, as we grow and learn about things, interpret them, so does our value of the things grow as well.
When I first encountered red, I was swiped. I never seen a color so powerful and self-standing. Red seems as a color that can stand alone. Yet, red unlike other colors doesn’t seem to take a central place in our society. Red is a defiant color. These are some symbolic that are related to the color. On the other hand, I don’t find red to be like that.
As I wrote in previous post, for me poetry is a tool by which I discover myself. Why do I want to write about it? Why am I fascinated with this color? Red reminds me of freedom. I believe that red is a taste of freedom. It reminds of the first time I’ve been myself. Those first times for every activity when you are most yourself. I can taste red whenever I kiss a girl for the first time. Through lips, bodies become one, grip tightens, allowing for senses to overthrow reason. At this moment, red blooms, very thin, spreading like light through every touch bodies exchange. It’s the pressure of spiraling lightheadedness. Pushing to newborn dams of propriety, an ancient river finds its breath. Beyond that, it sits. A certain warmth engulfs the body, screaming as what is becomes what was. The chimera appears, visceral changeling, only to traverse in new form. I see the animal, but I’m not frightened. I’m serene. I close the distance, travel through bubbly air of insight only to find myself in its eyes. I’m the beast. Lips enter the distance in which red lingers, survives. Like a sweet fruit leaves us with its tasteful honey, so does the red. It leaves with longing to reunited in touch, to give in, be ourselves.
Again, these are forms of animalistic behavior. While kissing is wonderful, what kind of person am I? Do I feel like beast when I kiss other person? Am I like animal?
Further I inquire the color again. With some restraint, I approach it more carefully. This time, I don’t think of other people. I’m in fire, but I’m the core of that fire. It eats itself, again and again to be born again and eat. It doesn’t hurt, but seems pointless. I want touch objects, but nothing immediate comes to mind. Am I a lone fire? Is my burning what alienates me? It feel comfortable, to be red. I want to move, I have to. But if there were other objects, could I touch them? Should I? I wanted to know more, but couldn’t at this time.
I can see there is more to the color than I thought in the first place. I’ll examine it more closely next time. Here is the sample poem:
Tremors wake up through
fingers, an unknown salt on
lips becomes known
Eyes are the measure of deep
experience, people don’t have to
die, just to see
It’s night, but dewdrops are clear,
it’s hard to breathe, holding down
rivers as ancient as promises of first
kings remembered as greatest traitors
Eyes seek, yet rarely find, such is the
path of adequate beast, that which sates
its hunger on boiling blood of others, one
felt in the air but never to be seen
Mundanely vane is to search for glimpses of
white-rose light, for its petals are the forts
of our secure containment
Not many things suits the man as not being
Come flood, the body is yours, the soul is yours,
come flood, carry what wasn’t said and flush it over
what had to be
For you red are the truth I don’t have to believe in,
engulf me, let me be the truth I am
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