Holi

Some people made me feel shades of red.
Others tried painting me the palest of blues.
I shook myself like an Etch a Sketch, instead.
You are my favorite of all the hues.
I bought an easel, turning my canvas white–
though back-stacked paint still shown through.
It gives rigid depth and dimension to sight,
but my favorite tint will always be you.
Like the Hindu, color festival,
that’s what you did to my soul.
My heartbeat explodes something spiritual.
You are my favorite of all things carnival.
Year-by-year, I grab vibrant powder
and continue to worship prismatically.
I’ll always enter the temple of you, dear;
because, you’re my favorite of all things Holi.

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