Yellow

A strange, old piece.

It looks like fire, and glows like the evening sun. This isn't the regular kind of colour. This isn't even a colour, neither is it real. Again — abstract as this shall read, so shall it be to whom isn't concerned. Let us begin, my concerned readers.

Out of the blue, this one comes. It's a fiery blur, a clean blemish. So much life seems to come out of it, while it manages to drain the living substance off the strongest host. No, it doesn't drain it — pardon my lack of details — like I said; it shows the already drained life of the host. It shows the naked corpse and neglects to clothe it and put in a sepulchre.

Everywhere it goes seems to become as dirty as I said it was. Dirty and swollen; swollen and smelly; smelly till it becomes dry; dry till it becomes dust. It is all death and ugliness. It holds no regard for the strong, neither the weak — for it renders useless the most chivalrous warrior! Fear this mystery! Man must preserve honour!

It drags our dignity in the surroundings of swines, for it makes even the freaks of nature covered with shrouds of its filthy being! It covers their nakedness with more filthy nakedness, and leaves them to freeze in the land where all lowly men converge! But is the lowly man as low as to deserve a clothing of disgrace on what's supposed to be a ‘grand' departure? Why is there a departure, when they want, very much, to walk with men alike and above?

Yellow is the glow of the evening sun — the one thing that does not show disgrace. But yellow, also, are the leaves of once living trees — for they are now dead. Yellow is the skin of the dead man, for his nakedness shall not get covered, but shall only be clad in yellow. Yellow is the sepulchre of Men — far too many go through that path to the cold and dishonourable realm. Yellow is the colour of the realm that holds and forces shame into the once lofty men and gods.

What would be more delightful than making the leaves evergreen, without the disgraceful taint of yellow? What more would be delightful than not dressing man in yellow, but in an unfading Green? Plugging the drain that sucks man's destiny and glory shall be after an Odyssey; who would be willing?