Blue

I

No blue is bluer than blue itself
How is one supposed to know when one is not born yet
Or not grown enough to understand yet –
Just there a splendid shapeless mass of blood skin something else
Fake dreams lies craving million more eyes
To look the way
They walk, they talk and
Dance under their dressing tables
In the bright loneliness of night
In the blinding darkness of day

II

They need to be told facts
Like ‘No blue is bluer than blue itself’
They may understand, they may not
It makes not a difference to blue
Because blue exists
To be blue and is so aware of the existence
Requires hence no proof to its own blue-ity

III

The blue of the skies that is blue –
But not bluer because only blue is as bluer as blue itself,
If not more

IV

Twenty lines - to say all about blue
Two more - to close it blue