Painting the garden blue – a visit to Marrakesh

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The year they painted the world blue

was dull with tea leaf skies;

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it was the same year we lost yellow,

sat despondently in front of brown traffic lights

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tried to remember how once a golden sun

warmed our skin, and when red was just a warning.

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We argued over green –

could it really have been so alive

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that it changed with every season

and only in winter did it drop from the trees?

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Our children were not the only ones to cry at this,

but even our tears were clear drops of loss

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as we whispered words of purple, orange, turquoise.

No wonder we fought over the paintbrush,

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pretended we were happy

and that the world was still beautiful.

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2 thoughts on “Painting the garden blue – a visit to Marrakesh

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