Red was the colour she wore that evening. Red were her bangles that jingled with her joy. Vermillion covered her hair parting. Red were her cheeks, blushing as everybody considered them a couple made in heaven. Red was her bedsheet in the morning. Pain welcomed her first day of marriage.

Blue was her flowing dress. Blue was the sea whose waves washed her feet. Blue was the vast sky. Blue was the horizon rejoicing the parallel intersection. Blue was everything inside her – numb emotions, unseen twilights and broken vows. She never knew that sadness was blue in colour, until now.

White was the sheet she used to write on. White, her gown and tiara. As white linen took over white pages, white hair started reigning the youth in the seventy year old woman.

Black were his scars. Black was all he could see through his blindness. Black was his burnt skin. Nobody knew about the bright colours he used to bring life to his paintings. Nobody knew that among the many colours he used to paint her with, red, blue and white were his favourite.

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From the Origin of time many rise and fall like winter weeds, My identity could not be revealed by anyone, My identity could only be revealed if you know me well. There isn't any great mystery about me. What I do is glamorous and has an awful lot of white-hot attention placed on it. But the actual work requires the same discipline and passion as any job you love doing, be it as a very good pipe fitter or a highly creative artist.