Brown is the colour of the gown
we wore in recluse survival instinct
as the crust of bark of the ark abrased
the waters of the Great Deluge. As the
Ark itself roiled, spinning precariously
in the giant eddy of the earth sucking
back the waters into itself; to make the
shipwrecks fear the scurvy of fate between
life and death. The scarlet of survival; if the
Universe’s first calamity was out of water!
And the white dove, would that be a duality
of subservience and loyalty; its feet dipped in
the carnage of red blood! Were they all sinners
then, those who scoffed at Noah for his percipience?
So, all shameful sinners hating the salvager, who was
silently convinced that redemption is only meant for
the elite! Would they all have rued their judgement
then, too late? And the green leaf miraculously sprouting
from the desiccated rot; now between the dove’s
beak, as if to say, life seemingly perseveres to preserve
and reinvent life! If that were life’s self-copulative exercise?
The black raven, that rejected Noah’s laying stake to
the claim of a mighty preservation, or the reservation of Noah’s
misjudged edict to have an elite among the animals as well. The raven – a
rejection that the protector’s hand to take animal life beyond
an unsavoury demise, was only a writ in its timeless servitudinal death (any way)!
That when Noah laid the golden-yellow canopy over the tabernacle in
offering, in a fear-wrought, humble thanksgiving to the gods, for the great
survival; and the offerings were flesh (human or animal?); the raven saw
seven duplicitous colours, before the dove, before Noah, in the sky;
but saw no way out!
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