By Neel Anil Panicker
Black is beautiful.
Black is pure pearl__ossidified, solidified, petrified to perfection emerging after thousands of years of penance from the earth’s belly, hissing, glistening, and illuminating all of mankind with its sheer magical brilliance.
Black is velvety, curling and embracing and reaching hidden chambers of your heart, unlocking secret still born desires, and reaching out to places and people so wrongly misconstrued as unreachable.
Black is when you look into the eyes of your lover and see not the whites but a pool of water ringed with pain and sorrow and grief and bereavement and all other words that tug at your heart and dip and bale and scrape out the last remnants of joy and happiness, leaving you dangling in a gravity-less mid-air suspension, your body a waste, your mind even more.
Black is the colour of her lustrous hair, a long, endless ink of total darkness and your fingers slipping in and out of its strands, tying and untying the umpteen knots that bind your soul to hers.
Black is what envelops you when she opens her arms and you close your eyes and your breaths become one while you side, slide and collide even as your bodies merge and submerge, swimming in the high tide of noon’s unbridled desires.
It may not be as black and white as it seems but BLACK IS BEAUTIFUL.
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