The Loops Of Love On The Holi Day

The fingers have something to do
with the chemical spill and the blood's 
ebb and tide inside. Something to do
with the way colours make you feel
when I rub a pinch of some hue
no one really dislikes - even if it's red
and we have witnessed
a dissection after the war has ended,
after the scalpels are thrown back
on to a tray so cold and so steel.

The fingers can make you feel -
I open a flower one petal at a time
until nilch remains of it 
except a sense of loss and gain
we lose again and again.