Everything here is yellow.

From the yellow walls

(That reflect the warm sunlight cosily in the evenings)

To the yellow cupboard

(That houses a wealth of clothes one could never finish wearing in a year)

To the yellow desk

(Of which not an inch is visible beneath stacks of old books and papers)

To the yellow aircon

(Used less than once a month - old but brand-new)

To the yellow bed

(Slept in but rarely)

On which a yellow girl lies

(Hair uncombed since breakfast)

Writing in a yellow book

(Whose pages are surprisingly, not yellow)

Thinking her yellow thoughts

(Of a room that is not yellow)

Missing another yellow boy

(Who is thinking of the yellow girl).

And all these yellow thoughts

Are the very things

That yellow the yellow room,

Piling up yellow dust

While a yellow heart

Refuses to appreciate

What others might see as sunshine instead of jaundice

The yellowness

Of the yellow room.

back to [ eyesite ]