True Colours of a Sufi

The sun was setting, the clouds had turned various shades of pink

He stood there outside the temple, unable to think

The coloured painting on the sky eased his fear

The societal rejection he got for being queer

A few dense clouds had started a light rain

Complementing the setting sun’s terrain

The collision of water and rays had exploded into colossal of colour

The blue grew from the top, as the bright pink got lower

His tears disguised themselves with the pour

They betrayed him, running from his hot face to the floor

Alone he stood

Alone he knew, he would always would

Lost he stood, seeking shelter under the stone hood

The pink now glowed on his skin

Washing his skin-deep sins

The colours had surrounded him, comforting his aching skin

The light got brighter as the sun was just hitting the brim

The nearby birds singing their soulful hym

He was a social outcast

A topic of debate on dinner tables and newscast,

He stepped out into the rain

Collapsing into the colour, releasing his insane

Using the melodies of earth

He danced, obtaining a rebirth

The colours now reflected into his eyes,

Gone was a human with all the physical

He was no longer his name,

But a spec in the light of pink, blue, and red unashamed

Lost in the light, he never returned

A new ascetic,

As the sun finally set,a vast blue with jewels had taken its place

He was still lost in the colours, once running away form them

He had embraced them along with his fate, finishing this suffering of a race

He stood there, with his conscious singing with his creator

He was home, in the embrace of his true colours

His eyes droopy,

Becoming a true Sufi